Traveling Dimensions, Worlds, and More Than 7 Seas
by SoundzofSilence
Summary: It all started with waking up in a dank cell. Ana, a modern Earthling, wakes up and finds herself on Krynn in the clutches of draconians no less. How in hell is she supposed to get back to Earth?
1. Not in Kansas Anymore

I woke up in a dim, dank cell. Yes, one of the kinds they keep prisoners in. Damp, gray cobblestones jammed into my backside as I stared up at the ceiling, fear having drained my energy.

That left the inevitable questions:

Where the hell am I? and How did I get here?

You might be asking yourself that too, and expecting an explanation from me, but I honestly don't know either. I don't remember how I entered the cell, who dumped me in here, or anything before that.

I do dimly recall listening to my iPod and reading a particularly captivating book, but nothin' else. That left the question 'Where the hell am I?' out in the open and I wasn't sure if I wanted that question answered.

I mean, I'm a good kid, mostly A's…the incredibly shy bookworm type girl. If so, then why am I in jail?

I decided to find out.

Sitting up, I rubbed my eyes although there wasn't much to see. I squinted without the aid of my glasses –which had vanished- at my cell. Total gray cobblestone room with a lumpy, old mattress on a metal frame, a large ceramic bowl for…bodily functions, and a similar ceramic bowl with water.

I was so breaking out of here. I slid my hands into my pockets to find- _nothing_. I sucked in an alarmed breath. That wasn't possible! Oh man, those bastards took my iPod, lighter, two keychain-sized pepper sprays, Halloween cosmetics my friend had given me, my scrunchie, a booklet with a compilation of Japanese I'd learned, and a few other things.

Now I was freaking out.

I stood and patted my body down. My only weapon was myself…and the ceramic bowls, lumpy mattress, and metal bed frame. I took deep breaths, trying not to alert possible guards I was conscious and now wired on adrenaline and fear.

No need for them to know.

I ran on my tiptoes in my sneakers –thank whoever I had them- to the wall and neatly pressed myself up against it. My breathing slowed as I reached the front of the cell where the shadows receded and the iron bars ran from the ceiling to floor.

I frowned as my eyes darted to and fro. I was partially relieved the other cells were dark inside, but I heard moaning with the occasional scream. It wasn't pleasant.

_Note to self: never get busted and go to prison/jail._

My mouth was dry as I trembled slightly. How did I get here? Where was here? Why was I in here? What had I done to deserve this? I edged back to the farthest wall away from the front and my fingers brushed against a chain link.

I bit my lip as it rattled slightly. It was to chain someone to the wall. Two wrists, in fact. My head swiveled to the front. Had anyone heard? I held my breath, praying no one had.

A silhouette and outline of a mutant figure stood before my cell. Apparently my prayers were being ignored. I stared at the outline, brain going overload. What had a squat outline, scales, wore armor, and carried a sword? Not to mention had a tail and wings.

"I'm glad to see you're awake. We were beginning to think you would not make it," a…snaky, raspy voice hissed, chuckling.

"What are you?" I asked, my voice firmer than I felt. Good, brownie points for me.

I flinched as there was a harsh scraping before a torch beside my cell was lit. I gaped at the abominable thing I saw. It had horns, reptilian eyes, wicked sharp teeth, slits for nostrils, and was covered in scales. It wore dull armor with faint bloodstains on it and an intimidating sword hung at the walking crocodile's side.

I don't think I'd ever been so observant in my entire short life.

"I am a draconian," it purred with a strange, hard-to-understand accent.

Suddenly I knew where I was.

"Shit."


	2. Welcome to Krynn

"Oh _yesss_, you are in deep sshit," the draconian agreed after making a long-lasting series of harsh barking sounds I suspected was laughter.

I couldn't have agreed with him more. How did I travel from Earth to Krynn, a place that didn't exist? Or maybe it was Earth that did not exist…I stopped before I thoroughly confused myself.

"Where are my things?" I inquired, more curious than scared. Maybe this was all a really bad dream, or I had a concussion with amnesia, or perhaps I was hung over….really, _really_ hung over. I knew I wasn't dead because I doubted Krynn was where all dead people went for heaven…or hell. But when the draconians were through with me, I knew I would wish I was dead.

"Your thingss are sssafe," crocodile man assured me. I decided not to say my things would be safer by me or how much I doubted my precious possessions' safety was ensured.

I inhaled deeply through my nose and exhaled out my mouth. "Why am I here? What's going on?"

"Humansss alwayss assk too many questionsss," the draconian told itself thoughtfully before addressing me. "You were found in the forest, unconsscious. A ssstrange flash of light alerted uss to your presssence. Then we found you."

Crocodile man could be lying and he could be telling the truth. I decided not to believe him, but magic was a definite factor in my transporting to Krynn- that much was certain. How else was I supposed to have gotten into this mess?

Don't answer that.

Crocodile man left, smiling unpleasantly. I sighed and sat on the bumpy floor. Hopefully I would die of hypothermia or get a cold and my health would slide downhill from there. As long as I escaped alive, I didn't care about the method.

I ran my hands through my hair, sighing with frustration again. _What am I doing? I should be searching for a way out! And once I'm out, then what?_ I thought sarcastically. _I don't even know where on Krynn I am. It's probably in some sort of cavern away from civilization- like the movies. _

Ah, how I wished this was only a T.V. show with all those hidden cameras. Any second now the draconian would come back, freak me out a bit, and then laugh, saying I was on candid camera.

Yeah.

* * *

A/N: don't own Dragonlance unfortunately so don't get yer panties in a twist 


	3. Adjusting and Annoying

One week later, I learned how lucky I was. Getting two meals a day, albeit it was lukewarm water and dried bread, and having a mattress was considered a privilege. For meal times, a draconian slid the food (more like reject food) through a doggie door, a really _small_ doggie door no human my size could fit through. Most prisoners were lucky to get one meal or even a mattress. I wondered not for the first time if draconians ate humans and why they were fattening me up. But food and water weren't the most dangerous obstacles I faced. Or my captors, surprisingly enough.

It was boredom.

So, the first day, just to annoy the hell out anyone within screaming distance, I sang '1000 Bottles of Water on the Wall' as loudly as possible…at least until the guards, claws over ear holes, told me to 'shut the hell up' and almost proceeded to kill me. Why water? Because beer would seem appetizing to them. My serenade earned a deduction of one meal.

The second day, I began exercising: push-ups, sit-ups, jumping jacks, lunges, squat-thrusts, running around screaming random words I learned in Spanish class, and other healthy exercises. Apparently, the guards didn't appreciate Spanish because I got one meal that day too.

The third day I decided was Pirate Day. That meant singing "Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for me" and "Party-hardy on Titanic; sailing, sailing, jumping off the railing" and the theme to One Piece however many times I wanted. I even used nautical terms to address and antagonize the guards. I skipped food that day.

"'These were the final words he said: my fortune is yours for the taking, but you'll have to find it first. I left everything I own…in One Piece,'" I quoted from _One Piece_, grinning to myself.

"'Drinking, drinking til the ship is sinking. Gambling, stealing, lots of sex appealing,'" I sang from a YouTube I'd seen. "Come, let us sing 'The Sailor Song.'" I knew the song killed the draconians because they didn't want to babysit- and this song reminded them how much their lives sucked.

The fourth, fifth, and six day I decided to let them cool off or they promised to fulfill their endearing death and torture threats. Those days were spent repeated exercises and performing yoga.

It was the seventh day, almost noon, and I was debating whether or not to pluck some nerves. Annoying people was a favorite hobby of mine. I knew when I pushed people too far, and usually stopped at the breaking point, but I had a death wish. Or at least, I wanted them to release me or ship me to the funny farm.

As I wondered, the cell creaked open as three menacing saurian figures entered, two bodyguards flanking a robed draconian- a priest, the High Priest, judging by the tacky talisman of a five-headed dragon. It only reminded me of a Yu-Gi-Oh card. Did they duel with children's card games here?

"This is the girl?" the black-robed one said.

"Yes sir," answered Number One.

The High Priest studied me closely, actually closer than he had before. His alligator eyes took in my unbathed (it was making me ill), disheveled state, my outlandish attire, and my fascinated face which stared back at him.

"What is your name?" snapped the High Priest.

"Ana," I answered, "I just saved a bunch of money on car insurance by switching to GEICO."

"I don't give a damn about gecko," the High Priest sighed as if he had more interesting things to do than interrogate the likes of me. "Or whatever its called." He turned away. "She'll do. Let's see if she can pass a few tests."

Suddenly, it felt like I was Maximum Ride back at the School, an evil cesspit that played around with DNA and created mutants. Suddenly, I felt like an experiment. Suddenly, I was glad I had exercised.

* * *

A/N: Okay, phew, long one. I don't own: the songs 'A Pirate's Life For Me', 'The Sailor Song', or One Piece. I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh, GEICO, or Maximum Ride. Thank you and have a nice day. 


	4. Workout from the Abyss

I collapsed on my knees, lungs burning, head light, and adrenaline long sucked dry. My throat seized up from exercise-induced asthma (there is such a thing) and I began coughing dryly. Sweat pumped from every available pore. It was a disgusting version of a shower.

"Give her some water," the lazy voice of the High Priest ordered.

I was trembling so badly from exhaustion I couldn't take the glass from the subjugated elf slave without half of the precious liquid spilling onto the stone ground. More spilled on the ground and my shirt than went down my throat. It sucked so badly.

I handed back the glass almost dropping it. The draconians laughed. I was too thoroughly worn out to glare or do anything. My vision was coated in a light, champagne air. My head threatened to float off my neck or crash onto the cavern ground.

"Get her out of my sight and be sure she bathes. She smells filthy," the High Priest demanded with a hint of amusement in his voice. _Y-you arrogant, l-lazy a-arse, _I thought, shifting my head to stare at him. _I h-hope you b-burn in all y-your disg-gusting deeds in the d-deepest pits of- of hell._

My back was nudged with the butt of a spear. "Get up," growled a voice. It took my brain a few moments to digest the command. My exhausted muscles screamed and creaked with protest as I swaggered to my feet. The owner of the spear knocked my legs out from under me. "Too slow," he apologized.

I didn't respond, just stared blankly at the carved ceiling. "Get up," the guard hissed, prodding me none too gently.

"Kill me," I said in a deadpan voice. Teenagers had the right to be lazy asses and tired whenever we wanted because, hey, we were teenagers. "You know you want to."

"I do, but the High Priest needs you for…a little experiment." The guard seemed overjoyed he knew more than I did. "You probably won't live through it."

While he was monologuing, I had stood up and waited politely for him to finish. Chains were shackled onto my wrists and ankles. I staggered after the guard without comment. Even when treated like dirt, I shouldered it and didn't complain. Guess that went for bad guys too.

I trailed the crocodile man to a beautiful cerulean lake, the crystal surface untouched. He removed the manacles and gestured toward the water. "You have one hour."

I gave a slight nod out of habit and went toward the water when a meaty, scaled hand on my shoulder stopped me. I blinked back at the guard, perplexed.

"Aren't you…going to take your clothes off?" he inquired eagerly. _Pervert. No way in hell am I ever letting _you_ see anything! _

"Uh, no. Why?" I asked, wondering why I should give him the pleasure. Crocodile man seemed rather disappointed as I waded into the refreshing water fully clothed, even with my shoes on. I sat in the shallows and laid back. This lasted a few moments before I trudged out into deeper water, wishing I had taken off my shoes. Then again I didn't want them stolen. Tennis shoes were tough, enduring little things and I needed them for escaping.

I drank lake water, knowing no toxins or chemicals were floating in it, at least not like Earth's chemically cleaned waters. This was pure, younger-seeming water untainted by chemicals. It tasted delicious.

"Out!" the guard ordered from the shore.

An idea hit me upside the head. _Idiot! _I spurred into action, diving under the surface of the water, pumping my limbs furiously. Why wasn't I going anywhere? _Stupid moron, your limbs aren't in coordination! _I berated myself.

I broke the surface of the icy water, water threatening to invade my nose. I glanced over my shoulder to see crocodile man crashing through the water with others in hot pursuit. Giving a terrified/excited squeak, I began swimming free style.

Pain lanced my side- an arrow. I screamed underwater, gagging, before breaking the surface, coughing. The agony! The pain! Out of reaction, I tore out the arrow and nearly passed out from a fresh wave of pain. My side ached like a mother giving birth to the world's most obese baby.

I weakly flailed my limbs in a vain attempt to swim. I could feel the blood flowing from the arrow wound and each second drained my energy twofold. A rough, burly arm clutched onto my forearm, squeezing its wrath. I struggled halfheartedly but ended up being tossed onto the jagged, rocky shore.

"Bitch!" crocodile man screeched, preparing to bring down the butt of his spear on my stomach. One of the High Priest's bodyguards shoved him aside as the sea of draconian parted for their Moses.

The High Priest –an aurak by his gold scales, miniscule wings, stub of a tail, and elf-like figure- knelt down with a calm expression. I coughed and stubbornly kept a hand over the oozing puncture wound. I stiffened as his claw wrapped around my wrist. It was a momentarily tug-of-war that I lost, but as soon as his hand released mine, my hand automatically strayed back to the injury.

The High Priest growled with annoyance and pinned my hand down. He shut his eyes and murmured something while holding the Yu-Gi-Oh medallion. I sensed a power growing in him, a power that made me want to crawl away. When he opened his eyes, mine widened as the claw that had been grasping the talisman lovingly came toward my side.

He touched it and the pain was immensely worse than the arrow could have ever inflicted.

I yelped and my body jumped away, although my other arm and legs were pinned down. I love flexibility. The High Priest pursued and pressed his clawed hand on my side. Something coursed into my body to accelerate the healing process. It was foul, loathsome, and unnatural. It was black magic directly from Nuitari, amplified by his mother's –Takhisis's- wishes. I understood why Harry Potter began yelling when Voldemort touched his forehead in the fourth book. Some of the draconians chuckled or smirked.

When the High Priest was done, the arrow wound wasn't there anymore, but I was twitching involuntarily. The aurak stood, wiping his bloodied claw on his onyx robes, and announced, "The black moon is at its nadir. Begin the injections."

I didn't like the sound of that.

* * *

A/N: yet again, I don't own Harry Potter. 


	5. The Injectionist

I lay on the cold floor of my cell, wet and shivering and twitching. The after effects of the healing hadn't completely subsided. I gazed unblinkingly at the plain grey cobblestones, remembering the pain and the power. The power was…tremendous. It felt like being chucked into a pool of ice water with ice cubes and thousands of needles floating in it in December at _night_.

Yeah, that bad.

The cell door eerily whined as the door opened. The injection specialist had come- a.k.a. The Doctor from the Abyss. I hated shots. They were the devil's toys, liquid of potential deadliness and pointiness aside. A lesser bozak –I was beginning to see the differences- knelt by my side. It opened a brief case; I glimpsed an array of needles and sickly colored fluids.

It swabbed my arm and chose a Tetanus-shot-sized needle that was adequately attached to a Tetanus-sized dose of injection. The fluid was a dark crimson, possibly blood. The bozak slid the needle smoothly into my arm and I felt the warm liquid traveling through my veins, downward.

"What-t's th-that st-tuff?" I croaked, teeth chattering.

"It's the blood of a griffin, lucky gal. It's been specially prepared with magic. I'll see you in an hour, every day," the bozak smiled fondly at me. "This is preparation for the experiment."

"What-t-t exp-periment?" I chattered, shivering. The newly injected blood burned hot in my veins.

"When the black moon is at its zenith, and the High Priest's magic is strongest, a griffin's wings shall be attached to your body and I'll give you the largest dose of magic you'll ever receive." _They're trying to turn me into a mutant like Maximum Ride, wings and all. It's transmutation, _I recalled, thinking of _Full Metal Alchemist_.

"What a-are th-they trying to ac-accomplish?"

"An army of despicable half-breeds that can fly and have magic powers," the bozak cackled at the pleasing fancy. "If you survive, that is." He left me alone with my thoughts.

At least it wasn't as bad as Earth scientists would have treated me. I would have been stuffed into a cage, had blood samples taken, done tests until I died, and simply stood as a model for the sadistic spawns to observe and note upon. I praised there were no X-rays, chemical dyes, technical eye-sight enhancing, or any other horror stories scientists-gone-bad kept in their stuffy, chemically sterilized basements.

I felt like I was on Death Row, knowing the terrible day I would die and how, then having to wait out the days, counting down the hours I had to live. _The black moon must be a new moon_, I reasoned, _and that means about a whole month of this hooey. _

* * *

"I want my things," I demanded, arms crossed as I sat on the bunk. The bozak, briefcase in hand, ignored me and began to open it. 

"I won't cooperate until I have my things," I repeated, uncrossing my arms and readying myself for a street-style cat fight. And street fights aren't fair, utilizing the every dirty trick in the book to survive. Just for fair warning, I informed my opponent. Twice.

"Listen, girl, I don't want to hurt you, but I will," the bozak warned, standing with a fresh shot poised for action. I glared at him, silently daring him to come closer.

He did and my leg lashed out, slamming into his kneecap. The bozak hissed in pain and I kicked again as hard as I could. I wanted to hurt him, hurt him for the shot yesterday, for my humiliation, for my arrow wound, for the terrible 'healing' experience, and for putting me in this hellhole.

The enraged injection specialist grabbed my leg and pulled me off the bed. I landed on my back, seeing little flashing spots sparkling before my eyes and a headache the size of the Grand Canyon coming my way. A boot stomped on one of my shins and a clawed hand grabbed one arm.

I shifted my leg, unsteadying the bozak and causing him to fall heavily onto his back. The injection he planned to give me shattered, pooling in the cobblestone cracks. I scrambled to his kit and pulled out the largest, pre-set-up needle I could find.

By then, the bozak was on his feet. "Guards!" he shouted, seeing me with the hopefully lethal injection. The bozak charged towards me and I stabbed at him with the needle. Whether by luck or good aim, it landed in his chest. My thumb, already on the top, was jarred by the lucky stab and pushed the liquid into him.

He began screaming and a flailing claw caught me across the cheek, causing me to spin and fall to the ground. I crawled under the bed, eyes on his boots and the hem of his black robes. My mouth fell open slightly as his scales began falling to the floor, along with his clothing. I jumped and covered my head as the bozak exploded.

Dead silence. Dead, thunderous silence.

I…I had killed someone. By a total fluke. B-but he was dead, the bozak exploded. I stared stupidly at the blackened scorch mark where the bozak had stood a few minutes ago, unable to comprehend he was dead and _I_ had murdered him. _I-I didn't mean to…I mean, it was life or death, but…I'm not a murder! Am I? _

I felt like crying. Killing someone seemed so easy in the movies, what with the expressionless faces of the killers. Actually performing the act was something completely different. It felt like a spotlight was shining on me, screaming 'I killed someone, therefore I am a murderer'. The cell opened.

"What the hell happened?" a kapak demanded. "How did the injectionist die?"

"How could one little runt kill him?" a second kapak asked.

"Where is she?" the first suddenly hissed venomously.

I froze up. I stopped breathing, stopped blinking, only able to watch with horror as a pair of boots slowly crept in my direction. In a moment of amazing strength, the bed –frame and mattress- was lifted and tossed. I sucked in a breath, eyes wide.

The kapak shouted something in its guttural language and the butt of a spear cracked across my head. Sleep is the cure for everything, especially the kind where one drifts off to heaven.

* * *

"-killed her! Humans are eggshells compared to draconians, remember that or there won't be a next time!" The High Priest was shrieking. _Crack_. Flash. Howls of pain. A spell had been performed. A bad spell. Someone was hurt. 

Ugh, my head. It was split into tectonic plates that were all colliding together. A low moan escaped my lips. I felt the residue of another terrible healing. Damn.

To my utter surprise, a clawed hand stroked my head. "Are you alright?" the draconian purred sweetly. It took a few moments to connect the sweet talk with the aurak High Priest. It was unbelievable.

_Of course not! _I wanted to scream while shaking his shoulders. _My head is caved in, I don't know what's going on, and you and your pedophile urges are creeping me out! _

An unfamiliar voice chuckled. "Ana is confused, High Priest. Your petting is bothering her."

_Damned mind reader. GET THE -BLEEPITY BLEEP BLEEP- OUT OF MY MIND! GO MOLEST YOUR OWN –insert long strand of bad words fanfiction authorities forbid me to post- MIND! _

The evil Majerean or mind reader only chuckled more at my mental outburst. I didn't open my eyes. I didn't want to because I wondered if I was going to get molested by the High Priest. The mind reader burst out laughing and explained to the High Priest, who slapped me across the face.

_Owie. _

'_You deserved it.'_

_Shut up...and go away while you're at it. Oh, I want my things. _

'_What things?'_

_I want my possessions, damnit!_

The mind reader ignored me. _'Why did you kill the bozak? What was your motivation?'_

_I. Want. My. Things!_

'_As soon as we are finished with questioning.'_

_Don't lie to me! This is exactly why the bozak is dead! I refuse to cooperate further until I have my effects!_

The mind reader was silent. I cracked open a curious eye. A silver sivak dragon was frowning and turned to its golden cousin. "She killed the specialist because she wanted her things," he informed the High Priest. It was weird listening to the conversation because my mind had already thought it out before and it was being repeated aloud.

"They have been inspected. She can have them," the aurak sniffed with a dismissive wave of his claw.

_Wow, draconians are butt ugly…they remind me of the Butt Ugly Martians. _

I groaned as my headache increased. Apparently the sivak didn't appreciate the comment. But it was his fault for eavesdropping. _That is why thoughts are meant to be kept private_, I concluded.

'_How touching.'_

_I thought I told you to buzz off. _

'_You told me to 'go away'. _

_I did and trespassers will be shot. Survivors will be shot again. _Closing my eyes, I cherished the short image of me shooting an arrow at the sivak as he attempted to crawl away pathetically, one arrow already sticking out of one knee. My doubled headache quadruplified. Despite the severe migraine, I smiled.

"Bring me another injection specialist immediately. Be sure he has a talent for magic. I shall give Ana her next shot," the aurak ordered, unaware of my discomfort.

As the mind reader left, my head felt like stuffy air being let out of a balloon. I gave a long sigh when he was gone and dared open my eyes again. _Wohoo! _My mind celebrated his departure with a chorus of nasty name calling.

My fingers gently probed my dully throbbing head. Okay, it was whole and not in large shards as I had suspected. I sat up- and immediately fell back. My head swam as my brain sloshed around and my stomach threatened to spew lake water from earlier in the afternoon. I shut my eyes and massaged the bridge of my nose, completely aware of the watching High Priest.

I heard clicking of claws on the smooth, polished floor. An exchange of words in a guttural language occurred and the clicking retreated into silence.

"Here are your things, Ana," the golden mutant said. I opened my eyes and saw he was holding out a large velvet pouch. I jerked up, ignoring dizziness, and accepted the pouch with a controlled smile.

"Yay!" I squealed, hugging the pouch that contained the only objects I was familiar with in this alien world. Disregarding the High Priests's arched non-existent eyebrows, I opened the drawstring and dumped out the contents.

iPod: check. Lighter –muahaha- check! Two small canisters of pepper spray: full and untouched. Halloween make-up: normal. I paused to put my hair in a loose ponytail with the scrunchie and slid my black-and-red glasses back onto my face. Japanese booklet: whole and unabused. Lip gloss that smelled like strawberries: check. Everything else: checkety-check!

I arranged my things in their original pockets of my baggy, black cargo pants, using the pouch to keep my iPod in. The High Priest pulled up a chair and sat before the sofa I was chained to (by the legs).

"Let's discuss your objects," the aurak began pleasantly. "What is that squarish thing? A communicator?"

"No."

"What is it?"

"An iPod."

"What is an iPod?"

"Uh…" I was stumped. "A squarish thing?"

The aurak glared. "I have no time for your buffoonery. What is an iPod?"

"A device that makes noises," I answered truthfully, leaving out it details. No way in hell was I going to tell this Renaissance figure what an iPod did.

He held back his other questions concerning the iPod. "What is that device that creates flame?"

"A lighter."

"The strange cans?"

"Hot air," I lied, thinking this High Priest was full of it.

"The book?" he questioned relentlessly.

"Entertainment purposes," I said, watching him like a hawk as he did to me.

"I meant what language is that book?" scowled the High Priest, leaning one arm on a plush armrest.

"A nonsense language," I answered, knowing it looked like nonsense to the aurak.

"What about the sticky, sweet-smelling substance?" the golden mutant asked, observing me shrewdly.

"It's for lips."

The High Priest of the occult in the underground cavern leaned forward and hissed softly, "Do you take me for a fool?"

I stared at him, shaking my head slightly from side to side. _Arrogant and intelligent, but a fool? Naw, more like an educated fool. _

"Then why do you lie to me?" He knew I had lied about a few things, but I hadn't been completely untruthful either. A clawed hand withdrew into a sleeve and I knew he was reaching for a weapon to put in his hand- usually a knife was concealed up sleeves.

"I'm not lying to you," I said, phrasing my words carefully. I wasn't lying to him at the moment; I had lied a couple minutes ago- in the past. I pushed back into the sofa, wishing it would swallow me up as the High Priest's face came within inches of mine.

_AAAHHH! I'm too young to be raped! I'm too young to be raped! _I mentally panicked, pushing my head farther into the fat cushions.

The aurak stuck out his tongue. It came closer and closer to my face. I squeaked and buried my precious face in my hands under a cushion. "I will have my way with you if you don't behave yourself, _Ana_," warned the saurian rapist.

I allowed him to inject a new batch of the griffin blood. The burning sensation of the magic and heated blood made my mind feel feverish. It contained a little more magic than the last dose. The High Priest unchained my feet and patiently waited for me to stand. I sat up, waited for the moment of nausea to pass, then stood.

I followed him back to my cell, satisfied I had won a few trite battles today. I heard the High Priest remark to the guards that although I was one of the more cooperative prisoners, not to let their guard down under any conditions.

I merely smiled and fell asleep on the uncomfortable mattress. My last thoughts were promising myself to find a chiropractor after this mess was sorted out.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for the reviews. I don't own: Maximum Ride, Full Metal Alchemist, or the Grand Canyon (lol) 


	6. Wrestling with Takhisis

The same routine repeated daily for three-fourths of a month: getting injected with griffin's blood six times a day, eating (optional), drinking water, antagonizing the guards, taking dips in the lake twice a week while chained to a guard, and the occasional defiance to the injection specialist.

But this time the injectionist used his magic to paralyze me, inject the magical blood, and leave unharmed. At least until the last time I used my shoe laces as a trip string. The stronger bozak had forgotten the laces were there- and kissed the floor hello. Four guards had to bodily haul him out of the cell. The High Priest decided to move me closer to his quarters where he could keep an eye on me and my mischief.

I woke up to find a plain, simple white dress with a corset top and cross ties on the back. I found matching white slippers on the floor. Was this some kind of joke? Was the High Priest asking me to dinner or something?

I found two kapak guards peering intently into my cell. "You're supposed to put it on," one of them hinted. Draconians were really, disgustingly hormonally-challenged beings.

"Duh," I answered. "Why am I supposed to put it on?"

"For the ceremony," the second replied. "The High Priest has to have you approved by the Dark Queen."

"Who is the Dark Queen?" I asked, deciding to enjoy playing stupid.

"Takhisis," the first whispered.

"What? Sorry, I didn't hear you," I whispered loudly.

"Takhisis," he repeated a bit louder.

"_What?"_ I whispered really loudly, having fun.

"_Takhisis!"_ he shouted, losing his temper. He immediately regretted it. The kapak gurgled, tearing at his throat, and dissolved into a puddle of acid. _Wow, like Darth Vader. _

"You! Clean that up!" a bozak's voice ordered from the corridor. The second guard glared at me, knowing I would change when he left. As soon as he did, I slipped off my shirt, slid the dress on and adjusted it before finishing by pulling my pants down. I began adjusting the cleavage-revealing part, red faced.

_Stupid High Priest. He knows I'm a modest being. I dress modestly and act modestly! He knows that! Him and his stupid revenge_, I sulked, pulling up the front. The white dress was too big. I had lost a lot of weight since I had arrived and I had been skinny _then_. Now I was practically a walking-talking skeleton. A female version of Jack, the Pumpkin King.

I held up the dress, unable to tie the elaborate cross ties and too stubborn to ask the lecherous kapak scrubbing the filthy floor to tie it for me. Fortunately, I was saved the trouble because the High Priest, dressed to kill, and his bodyguards arrived. I grudgingly allowed the aurak to lace the back together.

"Ready my dear?" smirked the High Priest. When I didn't answer, he smiled. "Good."

He walked out. One of the bodyguards prodded by back, a sign I should follow. I cantered after the High Priest. We ended up in a large, open space. A great five-headed dragon statue stood on an altar with steps leading down to the flat floor. An occult of Yu-Gi-Oh-loving loonies were bowing and praising Takhisis.

The High Priest seemed dyspeptic, gloomy, and solemn as he traveled half way up the stairs. I stood at the base of the steps, watching, wondering if I made a break for it how far I would get. I decided against the action because I wanted my possessions.

Pedantic, spidery words were chorused by the followers of black magic. The High Priest's voice lifted with eerie cadence. As the demented hymn began to peak, I humorously considered grinding the High Priest. The mere thought made me smile. Until the oppressive, smothering feeling weighed on the room.

The room filled with black smoke that plumed from behind the blood-stained altar. I was never a serious religious person, but I was fascinated by the black smoke. How did they get the dry ice black? _"What do you want, Thalliyn?"_

The voice wasn't speaking aloud, but with omnipresent telepathy. It was the voice of a goddess. Her power radiated throughout the room from the altar to the furthermost corner. She was everywhere. I felt like worshipping her. _Wooooww, _my mind whispered in awe.

"Your Highness, I have summoned your attention for the examination of this human" -I was prodded up the steps to the High Priest's side- "for our mutation experimentation." The pit of my stomach fell out, along with a few other organs. _Oh crap-snackle-fudge._

I was acutely aware of the attention on me. _Fudge monkeys._ Not only did I have a phobia of shots, I had a phobia of being in front of people and having the spotlight on me. I wanted to crawl under a rock and die. Or have the statue eat me.

"_Set her on the altar,"_ Takhisis commanded. _Uh oh…_

I decided running was the best escape plan. Unfortunately the bodyguards had anticipated my scheme and snatched me up half way down the stairs. I began whaling on the sentinel to no avail. These were inhumane things, dragon versions of Tolkein's orcs. In my mind, Takhisis laughed as I mentally complained, _I don't wanna go! I don't wanna go! It's a creepy altar! They're gonna sacrifice my like the Aztecs! First they'll carve out my heart and then that's the last thing I'll see!_

No matter how much I squirmed and writhed, although I managed to free a limb or two a few times, I was eventually strapped down to the slab of stone that the dragon statue happened to be gazing down at. It was the freakiest thing ever.

I tried sliding my arms and legs from the tight straps. _"Cease your struggling, mortal, your battle should be with me," _Takhisis told me.

_AH! I'm going insane! I have voices in my head!_

The goddess was amused rather than annoyed. She invaded my mind, learning weaknesses and strengths. At one point the pain of having a goddess's mind rummaging through mine was so intense I arched my back and screamed.

"_I could kill you, human,"_ she told me.

_Go ahead. Do me the favor. You have the honors. _

"_Are you sure?"_

_Inescapably._

The response made her laugh cruelly, inducing a stinging migraine. Her delight was my pain. I weakly fended her off mentally. As the goddess's laughter died down, she sighed, "_You amuse me, girl. I accept you for the experiment. When you die, you shall entertain me every day."_

The telepathy spread, now not only meant for me. _"I accept her, Thalliyn. You have done well. My blessings are with you on the zenith of the black moon."_

That said and done, the miasma that was Takhisis ebbed away. I went limp on the altar, physically, mentally, and spiritually wiped out. I needed to crash badly. "Thalliyn, get me down from here," I ordered.

"What did you say?" the High Priest hissed.

"Did the Dark Queen's voice deafen you? You know what I said," I snapped, "Get me off this hokey stone coffin."

He did. Then pushed me off the altar. Causing me to roll down the steps. And pass out.

* * *

A/N: Don't own: Darth Vader, Jack the Pumpkin King from _The Nightmare Before Christmas_, or Yu-Gi-Oh. 


	7. The Angel Experiment

The day of my date with death arrived. I was quaking in my tennis shoes. The draconian had been creepily nice to me for the past week- feeding me higher quality meals, getting showers more often, and even conveniences normal, non-prisoners had. Like a hairbrush.

Unfortunately, my injections had increased from six to eight with powerful magic added in. I learned a dragon was being bled to death and the bronze dragon's magical blood was mixed with the griffin's. I was lead to the chamber with the bronze dragon so the High Priest could gloat who was receiving his blood.

The bronze dragon and I gazed at one another sadly. During Thalliyn's monologue, he yanked up my sleeves and exposed the tiny, multiple puncture marks of the shots as proof. The bronze dragon didn't seem aware though; he was staring at me. I swallowed dryly, my eyes filling with tears. He was dying.

Maybe it was his blood, but I felt connected with him –that's how I knew the dragon was a him- and seeing, feeling a part of him die tugged at my heart. I chewed on my bottom lip while two more tears fell as I witnessed two bozak extract blood from the bronze.

They peeled away beautiful scales ruthlessly. Next they drew their swords and began hacking and slashing. The bronze dragon roared in pain, the sad sound deafening. The blood spilled into buckets and as the buckets filled, the bozak replaced them and dumped the full buckets into a vat.

I picked up one of the shining bronze scales and stared at my reflection. When a bozak tried to steal it, I became inexplicably enraged and thrust the scale into the throat of the evil being. The explosion knocked over the bodyguards, the High Priest, the remaining bozak, and the nearest buckets of blood.

I heard the dragon chuckle weakly. "_My blood caused that_" his low chuckle seemed to say as if recognizing the violence in the action. I stood and walked close to the bronze dragon, putting a hand on its rough scales. "I'm sorry," I whispered, tears spilling down my eyes.

I saw the light fade from his eyes. I picked up a bronze scale, crying, and holding it so tightly the High Priest allowed me to have the thing as a gift from the dead bronze dragon.

* * *

Thalliyn left a halter top that exposed an indecent amount of skin on my back. He said sardonically that the wings were going to be grafted on my breasts when I complained. Woebegone, I reluctantly put it on. 

I kept the scale that was the size of a large flagstone safe until a draconian offered to shrink it for me. It was shrunken to the size of my iPod. I asked when the spell would wear off. He reckoned three or two days. I requested having the scale on a small chain to hang around my neck. Now it hung dejectedly from my neck.

* * *

Thalliyn had said I should rest because the experiment would commence at midnight. One fatal flaw with that ploy: once I was awake, I couldn't go back to sleep unless certain conditions were met. And, oh, the High Priest made sure those conditions were met. 

He woke me before noon- a big no-no- and made me do laps back and forth across the longest carved corridor to earn breakfast –another no-no. Then, I was forced to do push-ups over candles, sit-ups with an obese draconian standing on my toes, and other tedious, strenuous workouts- a repeat of the workout from Hell, but intensified.

Next, to earn lunch, I swam laps across the lake until I floundered and rescued myself from peril. After, I was forced to protect my mind from the evil mind reader, who was teaching me how to defend my mind (Thalliyn wanted me mentally exhausted!). Finally, the Head Honcho forced me to attend a spiritual session of praising Takhisis.

By the end, I was physically ready to expire, mentally riddled with holes, and spiritually annoyed.

Those were the conditions my body demanded before succumbing to sleep, which I did easily.

* * *

_Splash_. 

"Wha waz tha for?" I groaned, turning over, wet and half awake.

"You have ten minutes to say your prayers, girl," informed a kapak. Ten minutes to live.

I bolted up. Nothing better to kick start a night with than an adrenaline and fear fix. I spent five minutes apologizing to everyone I knew and wishing them the best. The last three I spent silently crying over regrets. The final two minutes I spent waiting. Waiting for the date with death.

The High Priest's bodyguards came to collect me. I was waiting behind the bars when it opened. I inhaled through my nose slowly and exhaled quickly out my mouth. Clenching my fists, I followed the guards to the same cavern I had been strapped on the altar.

Before the stairs, a complex incantation had been traced on the ground…in blood. It looked fairly complex, but elegantly so with spiderlike beauty. And I was the fly. A weak griffin, chained and enmeshed in a net, glowered at me. I felt hated, hated by the dragon and the griffin for stealing their blood.

An important, prissy bozak lead me carefully through the incantation set-up, weaving as he lectured me how crucial every detail was. Basically: perfection or bust.

The bozak rubbed my back down with a cologne of sorts. "What is this stuff?" I asked, sniffing.

"Myrrh," he replied. My eyes widened. Myrrh was for dead people. It was one of the spices, preservatives, or whatever that were used on _dead_ people. The draconians really didn't have much faith in me, did they? I didn't blame them.

The bozak took out a Tetanus-on-steroids-sized shot with the mixed bloods. He stuck the needle into the crook of my elbow, directly in the artery. I took deep breaths, closing my eyes with my head turned away. It burned worse than before. The new blood felt as though it was consuming my old blood.

The injection specialist had me lie on my stomach on the cold, unfeeling stone. He shackled manacles on my wrists and ankles before moving onto strapping my waist, elbows, head, and knees to the floor. With each passing second, I felt more and more afraid.

This was really it.

I was really going to _die_.

The High Priest and his assembly of occult sadists began chanting. My head was fastened down so I was forced to watch the aurak slice off the wings of the griffin. The mighty, proud creature screeched and died of blood loss. Tears mutely escaped my eyes. So much death all for this?

Two slices were made in my back and I felt the alien appendages jammed in. I screamed profanities and insanities as the magic connected each nerve, each cell, each fiber. _Almost like_ a_mniocentesis_, that's basically what it was. An example would be chopping a cactus in half and taking the top half of an Asian plant and the two would grow as one.

I hollered and bawled until my voice died out. Black ate the edges of my vision. A sense of numbness overcame my body.

_So this is death_, I thought shutting my eyes. _It's just like deep sleep._

* * *

_Hakuna Matata. This is not a tragedy. _


	8. Game Master

"Hello! Are you alive? Are you okay? Is it too warm or too cold?"

What was with the endless bombard of questions? I thought I was dead! Warmth and cold were for the living.

But then, if I was dead, why did my back ache like a mother? Memories resurfaced. Oh yeah, I blacked out during the operation. That must mean I had wings and I was lying on my back. I rolled over and the pain was chopped in half. I sighed with relief.

"You almost died," the annoyingly happy voice prattled on. "But we saved you! We found you in the forest with your back bleeding like there was no tomorrow but we patched you up! And now you're alive and waking up! That's really good. You know, you recover awfully fast, almost unnaturally so. What happened to you?"

I caught the whole conversation although it reminded me of watching a video fast-forwarded so the people had chipmunk voices. I'd been left in a forest when the draconians given up hope on me. Now I had been nursed to health by…people who loved to hear themselves speak.

"Where am I?" I groaned.

"Why, you're in Kendermore in Goodlund!" The voice kept chattering, but I mentally tuned out, glad my practice on my siblings hadn't gone to waste.

Kendermore.

Home of the most annoying, optimistic halflings on Krynn afflicted with A.D.H.D., hyperactivity, kleptomania, and the inability to fear. They are very mischevious. Their favorite and most common weapons were hoopaks- a staff with a sling on one end. It 'screamed' when twirled around. From what I knew, the average, run-of-the- mill kender hit about four feet. Kender had an affinity for telling tall tales (taller than them), bright clothing, and leather pouches.

Kender are often mistaken for human children because of their diminutive height. They possess pointed ears and slanted almond-shaped eyes, but the only eye colors they have are green, brown, blue, or any combination of the three. Although kender wrinkle at a young age, it is considered attractive (something I'll never understand).

The normal kender has brown or black hair, but sometimes an exceptional kender pops up with reddish orange or blond hair. Kender usually wear their hair in tight, high topknots when their hair is long. Apparently long hair is something to be vain about in Kendermore.

Although kender have high-pitched voices, they make excellent ventriloquists, animal imitators and other noises- perfect, dark instruments for pranks. When excited, a kender's speech tends to accelerate almost to the likeness of a gnome's. In their teens, kender go where the wind whispers- a.k.a. Wanderlust. Kender are very offended when accused of being called 'thief' or any synonyms, and then the situation rapidly spirals out of control from there.

How did I know all this?

Wikipedia and being an observant reader of the _Dragonlance_ series.

Oops, the kender had stopped speaking. "Water please," I rasped, clearing my throat.

"Okay!" The speaker dashed off.

* * *

In three days time I was up and about, alive and kickin'. After hunting down all my possessions with murderous intent, I kept all of them –including the bronze scale because the shrinking spell had worn off- on a very high shelf. When I learned the kender who had aided me was the famed Tasslehoff Burrfoot, I nearly died. Again. 

Tasslehoff was one of my top five favorite Dragonlance characters! And _he_ had taken care of _me_!

In an overwhelming moment of gratitude and fangirlishness, I nearly broke Tas's ribs, squealing 'thank you' and 'I love you' over and over again. Then asked for his autograph.

In a week's time I was dubbed a "Kender Wrangler" or "Game Master"- a volunteer who kept kenderkids busy by challenging them with fences, locks, and telling stories. I was the official favorite Wrangler. I had stories no kender had ever heard of. I retold Cinderella, Snow White, Beauty and the Beast, ghost stories, and anything off the top of my head. I only managed to stay sane by ignoring half of the piddle kender told me and listening to my iPod for ten minutes.

Unfortunately, that drained the battery and the nearest plug was centuries into the future.

* * *

"Fin," I finished in the dark of the night. The kenderkids faces were illuminated by the flickering orange and red light from the hearty bonfire held in the town square. I smiled as I was met by a round of enthusiastic applause and whistles. 

"Sing us a song!" one girl said loudly.

"Song! Song! Song!" the kender began, quickly picking up the chant. I shot Tasslehoff a helpless look and practically shouted, "Well, how can I sing when you lot are so loud?"

Creepy how quickly kender can quiet down.

It's unnatural I tell you.

"So," I said uncomfortably, "what kind of song do you guys want?"

Unfortunately, every kender had a different song they wanted me to sing.

"Nevermind!" I shouted. "I'll sing _Numa Numa_!"

It became jarringly silent aside from a few crickets chirping.

"Ma-ia-hii, ma-ia-huu, ma-ia-hoo, ma-ia-haha," I sang four times before beginning the Romanian song. "Alo, Salut, sunt eu, un haiduc, sit e rog, iubirea mea, primeste fericirea. Alo, alo, sunt eu Picasso, ti-am dat beep, si sunt voinic…" Somehow, I sang the entire song in Romanian without too many mistakes. Luckily most of the kender were occupied with dancing.

I remained sitting as the next song began with kender dancing all around me. I blushed. Dancing was embarrassing for me, especially because:

I didn't know _how_

I was a _giant_ to these people (one foot and a few generous inches taller)

I just didn't _like_ dancing. Period.

Tasslehoff lifted and pulled on my hand. "Please, Ana, for me," he pouted. That got me. It always did.

I didn't know why I did things for him; perhaps it was because he was one of my idols or I had a crush on him as the local kenderkids teased or he was simply the irresistible Tasslehoff. I got up and began dancing free style, occasionally copying a kender. Suddenly ale was flowing and the party lasted well past midnight.

I was one of the sensible ones who didn't drink and laughed at drunken kender. As part of my job as a "Game Master", I placed the kender in perilous situations from being handcuffed and locked in a room with no lockpick set to sleeping on a low branch on a tree.

I loved being one with the kender.

* * *

A/N: the information on kender can be found on Wikipedia, it's not mine. I do not own 'Numa Numa', the Romanians do (curse their awesome song). I also do not own Cinderella, Snow White, or Beauty and the Beast. 


	9. Dirty Little Secret

Tasslehoff and I gathered with a group of kender brimming over with Wanderlust. I would be traveling with the famed kender to learn the trade of travel. I pulled out one of the maps I borrowed from Tasslehoff, one of the more current ones. Yes, during my visit I had taken full advantage of learning kender skills.

They say experience is the best teacher, but the people who made up the saying forgot to mention how harsh experience was. I quickly learned why travelers wore lighter colored clothing, how much water to drink daily, how to track, kill, then prepare (ew) food, and other life skills.

My backpack caused my wings discomfort bordering on pain. I had learned to deal with the daily aching. It would take time to heal and adjust. Adjust….

How long would it take to adjust to Krynn? How long would I adjust before I went back to Earth and had to readjust?

The faces and names of my relatives were fading in my mind and that scared me. I could barely remember my parents' names or how many siblings I had. Memories with them drifted away and I doubted everything I 'knew'. It was trying.

"Hey, Tasslehoff," I asked one night when it was just us. The others had chosen their paths.

"Yes, Ana?" the kender replied, turning to look at me. "What is it? Is this too much for you? All at once?"

"Kind of," I answered, staring into the fire. "What if I can't remember my siblings or parents anymore? They're fading from my memory." I swallowed hard, hugging my knees to my chest. "Now I'm beginning to doubt everything. My life has turned upside-down and inside-out."

"Life is strange and tests everything you've learned, but you can meet lots of new people. Don't worry about your parents or siblings. When you see them, you'll remember. I know so," Tasslehoff assured, poking the fire. "Like the time I didn't remember I was related to Uncle Trapspringer. I was attending his wedding but I didn't know who he was until I saw him."

Trust Tasslehoff to turn any situation into a kender story for cheering up.

"Just listen to your heart," Tas advised.

"I'll try."

* * *

I woke up to the smell of cooking eggs. One glance at the pan told me they were fried, but I didn't mind. I couldn't afford to be picky or I'd die. It was still an egg and I could stomach it without complaint. Tasslehoff told me how long it took to cook the egg and I was surprised. On Earth, the time for cooking an egg ranged from ten to fifteen minutes, depending how it was made.

"Tasslehoff, how can people tell where the borderlines of different territories begin, end, or intersect?" I asked as we poured over his maps to decide where to go next.

"I don't know. I guess someone shoots an arrow at you or has their dogs chase you off," shrugged the kender. I laughed. We agreed to head to Khuri-Kan because I'd never been there and Tas claimed to have several acquaintances he hadn't seen in years.

"How long will it take to get there? In terms of days?" I inquired curiously. "How do you know?"

"I would say a week," Tasslehoff predicted. "The weather, the condition of the road, the method of travel, and a few lucky guesses are good signs. If the road is bad, then it would slow down someone traveling by wagon but it won't hinder us. But walking takes longer than by wagon. I guess it comes with experience."

"Sounds more like capricious variables in a mathematical equation," I sighed.

"Do you think we'll meet anyone? Like a mage? Or maybe an elf prince!" Tasslehoff's little legs began pumping like Marvin the Martian's and I took long strides to keep up with the little speed demon. When Tas got hyped, he took off like a rocket.

"Hey! Not all of us are high on life!" I protested with a smile, jogging after the kender.

"High on life? How does anyone get high on life? Is that possible?" asked the kender, slowing out of curiosity.

"It's an expression meaning that you're optimistic, always happy," I smiled.

"Oi!" I shouted as Tasslehoff began running down the road. I took chase. "What are we running from?"

"Nothing!" he called back. "We'll never get to Kuri-Khan at your pace. You go as fast as a gully dwarf!"

"Oh yeah, slug scum? I'll race you right now until one of us runs out of steam," I shouted at the master of insults. But kender were naturally quick sprinters. They had to be, ever on the run from angry sheriffs and draconians. I would hate to see what happened to a slow kender.

After a mile of running, my lungs burning- know the feeling? Rubbery legs? I could manage. The fact I was running with my backpack in one hand and my wings were spreading from my back? I believe I can fly! Wait, what was I doing?!

It was too late. My golden-tan wings were spread and catching the current. You know the part of humans that always long to experience flight? That part of me was enraptured. I loved it. The air running its fingers through my hair, my harsh breathing, and my feet occasionally lifting from the ground as my wings tried to flap.

I had a running start! If only I could jump from something!

I tried leaping. My wings stiffened in surprise as it caught a current and I floated three feet from the ground. As the ground came to greet me, I suddenly remembered to flap, but the motion was too delayed. I hit the ground, did a few summersaults, and landed face-first in the dirt. My glasses broke down the middle and the lens cracked.

So much for flying.

My wings ached again from the sudden use, like a weak muscle unused to labor. It needed exercise before I could utilize it and fly places. _Yeah…flying is a lot faster than walking or going by wagon_, I smiled deviously at the shock of those wingless folk on the ground, seeing a flying girl.

Uh oh. Had Tasslehoff seen?

I stood up, brushing myself off in a dignified manner, quickly tucking in my wings. Unfortunately they didn't tuck back into the clothing as I'd planned. I spent a good ten minutes clawing at my windbreaker, spinning around like a moron, and trying to stuff my wings back under the baggy jacket.

I did a hurried 360. Good, no Tas to be seen. That was either a really _good_ thing or a really _bad_ thing.

Now I concentrated on my broken glasses. I crouched and picked up the pieces, delicately sliding the shards of glass and the frames in the velvet pouch from the High Priest, Thalliyn. I tested my sight.

I could see far without my glasses.

How did I not notice this before?

_Because you're an oblivious idiot who doesn't notice anything unless it's terribly obvious? _Well, that was true. Cool. I guess I inherited raptor vision from the griffin's blood as an unexpected side effect, including heightened hearing and sporadic carnivorous cravings.

My raptor vision picked up Tasslehoff walking back toward me. Smiling at my newly discovered abilities, I jogged to greet him. "Ran out of steam, now did we?" the jolly kender teased. "What kind of gnomish machine are you? Running out of steam! I could get a gnome to fix that you know..."

"I did _not_," I retorted, feigning offense. "I merely tripped and broke my glasses. I had to stop to pick up the pieces. Anyways, I was so far behind I was first."

Tas frowned. "You broke your glasses? Do you need them? Is there someone specific you need to see to fix glasses?" He scratched his head comically.

"No, actually, I discovered I didn't need them," I grinned.

"Why did you wear them if you didn't them?" Tasslehoff snorted. "That seems ridiculous! I mean-" He carried on as we strode toward Kuri-Khan.

"I'll keep you, my dirty little secret. Don't tell anyone or you'll just another regret. I'll keep you, my dirty little secret. Don't tell anyone or you'll be just another regret. My dirty little secret, my dirty little secret. Who has to know? Who has to know?" I sang softly to myself.

* * *

A/N: Don't own the lyrics or the song 'Dirty Little Secret' by The All-American Rejects. 


	10. Mendelv

"Now that we're in Kuri-Khan, where to next?" I asked. We were sitting in a bar after Tasslehoff had met up with his acquaintances, who had turned out to be a cranky jailor, the broom-swinging owner of a magic store, and a gang of wayward kender.

The most recent of Tas's maps sat on the table innocently, revealing the entire continent of Ansalon. The bar was uncomfortably empty and filled with quiet whispers and furtive glances our way. Most were directed at me and my bizarre clothing. In one corner sat a group of humanoid figures cloaked in beige robes and turbans. On the opposite side of the room sat ogres- big ugly brutes nothing at all like Shrek.

Mounds of leathery hide and fat with large tusks and beady eyes, ogres resembled boars more than anything else. They watched us too. Their black piggy eyes gleaming with interest.

And we were sitting in the middle of them both, in the middle of the bar. The middle was the worst place to be and I knew it.

"There are lots of ogres here because we are near Bloden…" Tasslehoff pointed to a dot on a map near a dot labeled Kuri-Khan. "After we restock here, let's go straight for Sanction. If we go to Zahakar, the mountains will slow us down by a month or two."

"Sounds like a plan," I readily agreed. The tension was so thick no knife could have cut it.

"Come on," Tasslehoff said, placing a steel coin on the cracked, beaten table. I awkwardly followed him. To anyone else, I realized, our companionship was a strange mentor-apprentice relationship. It was mortifying to see the kender strut his stuff up to the counter where the bartender scowled at us.

"I would like a room with a bed and a bathroom," the kender said, on his tiptoes. He was unable to get his forehead above the counter.

"I don't serve kender here," the man sniffed, ignoring us as he scrubbed viciously at the countertop.

_Then how did Tas get his wine, I wonder. He sure didn't borrow it. _Even when Tasslehoff slapped two steel coins on the counter, the bartender pretended it wasn't there. Tas took out a gaudy, fauceted emerald ring, sitting on a stool. He began to finger it incessantly.

"You know, I got this as a token from my Uncle Trapspringer. It was his second wedding," he began. I hid a smile as I 'wiped' my nose. The bartender's face turned beet red and he finally slammed his hand over the two steel coins and threw a key at Tasslehoff, who ducked. "Take it!" he yelled.

I picked up the key from the grubby floor and ambled to catch up to Tas. "Nice," I complimented after Tasslehoff shut and locked the door of our room.

"He was simple," the modest kender grinned, "I could do much better."

"Why are we spending the night here?" I whispered in hushed tones. "Everyone down there looked like they were going to jump us and pick the flesh off our bones."

"If we spent the night outside, our chances of being killed and robbed are much higher than if we spent the night inside at an inn," Tasslehoff explained, flopping on the bed.

"I guess that's logical," I assessed grudgingly. I was a _bit_ jealous that the kender knew more than me. Maybe my nerves were freaking me out. "Should we take turns with watches? If it really is that dangerous, I mean."

"I don't think that's a bad idea," admitted Tas. "I'll take first watch."

"Fine by me…" a sly smile broke out on my lips. "As long as you don't fall asleep on duty."

The kender was offended. "I would _never_ fall asleep on duty!"

"Prove it."

"I will," Tasslehoff promised, stubbornly crossing his arms and scowling.

* * *

The kender was as good as his word. He woke me with a proud smile, whispering frantically, "Hey I did it! I proved I could stay up through watch! Now let's see _you_ try it, greenhorn." 

"Alright, you ornery kender," I had yawned, brain dead.

Now I was mostly awake, sitting up, and gazing at the room. Beside me, Tasslehoff muttered in his sleep and his hands searched for fascinating objects that eluded him in his dreams. The cute kender reminded me of a puppy whining in its sleep.

My transmutation hearing allowed me to catch the sound of heavy footsteps outside our door. I caught my breath and lay down in bed, eyes mostly closed. Should I wake Tasslehoff? Or handle this on my own? The decision was made for me as hearing picked up a 'click' of a lock being picked.

The door opened slowly and I held my breath. I had a plan. It was crazy, but it could work…

_Don't be a damsel in distress like the ones in the movies! Fight back!_

It was an ogre. The bull hunched down and stepped through the doorway. The door shut behind him.

I sat up, rubbing my eyes and the ogre froze. I pretended to spot him and got out of bed. "Takhisis is not pleased with you," I told him, using a trick I'd read from _Maximum Ride_. I hoped to James Patterson that it worked.

"She will be soon enough," the bull chuckled.

My wings unfurled, the tips grazing against the roof. I lowered my head slightly to shadow my face. "Takhisisss is not pleassed with you, preciouss," I repeated in Golem's whispery voice. "I wass sent to warn you. No, she is not pleasssed, not pleasssed at all."

The ogre tried to act tough as he backed toward the door. I took a step closer, my hands wrapping around the pepper spray in my pockets. I popped off the caps.

"Die you walking trash heap!" I yelled, whipping the mace out like guns. The spray covered his entire squashed face. Howling, the bull clawed at his eyes and ran through the door, knocking it off its hinges. I blew imaginary steam from one of the canisters and pocketed my favorite plaything.

Tasslehoff was out of bed, hoopak ready. "Whaaaa…" the question died on his lips.

Oops.

I'd forgotten to tuck in my wings.

"Um," I lowered my head and nudged the floorboards with my tennis shoes. "Yeah. About my, erm, wings…please don't tell anybody."

"How did you get them? Are you a kyrie?" Tas gasped, stroking my wings.

"What's a kyrie?"

"A religious group of humanoid things with wings," the kender explained, his voice becoming faster. "I didn't know you were a kyrie! I've never met one before, wow!"

"Tas, I'm not a kyrie…I'm just a kid who was in the wrong place at the wrong time." Now I had to think of a sure-fire way to keep Tasslehoff quiet. "If you tell anyone or even drop a hint about my wings or what transgressed tonight, I'll chop off your topknot, stew it, and force-feed it to you. Savvy?"

"No!" Tasslehoff wailed, hands protecting his dear source of pride. "Not my topknot! Okay, okay, I won't tell a single soul anything about tonight or…those."

I tucked my wings back under my windbreaker, satisfied. "Should I continue watch?"

"Sure…angel," Tasslehoff grinned, winking roguishly.

"Go to _sleep_," I laughed, waving him away.

* * *

"Can you fly?" 

I shot the kender an irritated look. We were on the road again, heading toward Sanction. I judged it was about eight o'clock by the shadows. The air was crisp, nippy, and cool- perfect flying conditions. "I thought we agreed not to discuss this," I told him with a hint of steel to my voice.

"But I want to know," Tasslehoff complained. "I've never met anyone with wings. I would think that since you have wings that you can fly but I haven't seen you do it yet."

"I haven't done it yet because my wings are weak," I explained. "They're underused."

"Practice," ordered Tas. "Why waste a perfectly good gift? Everyone dreams of flying but they don't have physical wings to do it. Have I told you about the time Fizban and I were in this tower and we had to escape a red dragon? There was a big chain we had to go down but we jumped instead. Fizban tried the spell 'featherfall' like Raistlin –both of them are mages- but all these chicken feathers came out of nowhere and Fizban disappeared. I thought he was dead but he came back later. Weird, huh?"

"Yeah." I remembered reading about that. I had cried for Fizban and later shouted at my book because I had shed my tears for nothing. Funny how that turns out.

"Why don't you start practicing by flapping your wings a lot to build your muscles," suggested Tasslehoff, "and then you can try a running take off. Or maybe I'll find you a cliff! A small cliff, of course, because you don't want to commit suicide."

I frowned. "But in the air there's probably more to it than flailing the wings around. It's a whole 'nother ball of wax in the air. It's not two dimensional; there's a whole other dimension added. I can go up, down, backwards, straight, sideways, slantways, and a whole bunch of other ways."

"For someone who doesn't fly, you sure know a lot about it," Tasslehoff said suspiciously, squinting at me.

"There's a flock of winged kids I read about," I shrugged, referring to _Maximum Ride_, "and their leader –Max, who is a _girl_, not a guy as the name leads you to believe- published a trilogy of their lives. They escaped the place that created them called the School and the School's guard dogs, Erasers, have orders to bring them back."

"Wow, that sounds…intense," whistled the kender, twirling his hoopak. "Always on the run from the place that created them…Why are they running away again?"

My response was taking off my backpack, unfurling my wings, and flapping them slowly up and down in a rhythmic manner. Up and down, up and down, almost like breathing.

"Sparkling angel, I couldn't see your dark intention, your feelings for me. Fallen angel, tell me why? What is the reason, the thorn in your eye? I see the angels, I'll lead them to your door. There's no escape now, no mercy, no more, no remorse cause I still remember…the smile when you tore me apart," I sang, "You took my heart, deceived me right from the start. You showed me dreams, I wished they'd turn into real. You broke the promise and made me realize…it was all just a lie…"

My voice faded. "Could have been forever. Now we have reached the end. This world may have failed you, it doesn't give a reason why. You could have chosen a different path…in life."

"That's a sad song," a rough voice spoke up.

My wings tucked in my windbreaker as Tas and I whirled around in sync. An elf wearing baggy beige and dark lime colored clothing, army boots, carrying a sword and the classical bow –and-arrows. He had blond hair and forest green eyes.

And he was hot.

_Super_ _model hot_.

Although I'm usually oblivious to the cuteness of males, this guy was obviously a stud in the most obvious way, hence the noticing and blushing and sudden timid attack. But I'm always timid around new people- it's called stranger danger.

But I could instantly tell this elf could get any girl he wanted with a stare.

Fortunately I was mostly immune to those types of cooties…and too damn shy to do anything if a guy began flirting with me. Typical reaction: turn red, inability to speak, stare at floor or anywhere but at the guy, fidget, and murmur when he spoke. Yeah, that's me.

I was currently more concerned that he had seen my wings. Would he shoot me, pluck out my feathers, cook me, and serve me for Thanksgiving? Speaking of holidays, what season _was_ it?

Tasslehoff recovered first, bounding toward the elf. "Hello!" he held out his hand for the ranger to shake, and grabbed the elf's hand when he didn't offer it. I smiled as Tas shook it animatedly. "My name is Tasslehoff Burrfoot, but all my friends call me Tas. Who are you? Where are you going? Where did you get this beautiful dagger?"

Impressive. Tas had borrowed a hidden dagger of exquisite value in under a minute.

"Nice to meet your acquaintance, Tas," the elf greeted politely, whisking the dagger away from the kender as it made its way toward his pouch. "My name is Mendelv. I had no particular direction in mind and I received this dagger as a…_gift_ from an ogre merchant."

Hhm, the ogre and elf must've had a deal and the ogre couldn't pay so he offered the dagger. The elf slit his throat with the dagger and considered the deal even. Okay, I was only assuming but that's usually how it works in the movies.

At least this Mendelv was polite. Another chick magnet factor. Curse elven hotness. It was affecting me! Males never affect me! Must. Get. Away. From. Him. Maybe I was just being paranoid again.

"Who is your kyrie companion?"

_Frickin A! Bad words! Many bad words!_

I returned his question with a polite, distrustful glare. I kept my distance from the ranger. Although he was an elf and had the body of a god, that didn't mean he wasn't capable of treachery, betrayal, or chopping my wings off. I'm a very naive person. You can tell.

"That's Ana. Don't mind her. She isn't very open to strangers, but give her time," Tasslehoff assured the elf. _Give me time? Give me an eternity._

There was a long, uncomfortable silence.

Bring out the Care Bears! We're making such good friends, I thought sourly, shouldering my pack and setting off at a fast pace. The faster we got to Sanction, the faster we could get rid of Mendelv, and the faster I could get home.

* * *

I avoided Mendelv, even when he was walking beside me, staring. But I didn't ignore him when he spoke to me. I wasn't that rude, but my answers were short and vague. I knew that he knew that I was uncomfortable in his presence and as solitary and shut-off as an oyster. This is how our first conversation went: 

"Where are you going, Ana?" Mendelv had asked.

"Sanction."

"Do you have relatives there?"

"No." My tone had been flat.

"Is there any particular reason you are traveling to Sanction?" he had persisted.

I had decided to play mystical yet joking. "The wind whispers to me."

Mendelv hadn't caught the joke about wind and me being a 'kyrie'. "For a kyrie, you're not terribly religious."

"If I were religious, I wouldn't be here, now would I?" Total icy shut down voice.

He had gotten the hint I wanted him to back off. Finally.

Okay, so that was a bit harsh but I don't like prying. If I wanted to let someone know something I'd damn well tell them. Simple as that. But apparently most people relied on speech, not reading body language, tone, or deeper meanings of words.

Maybe I was one of the rare few who did that or toyed around with words and deeper meanings.

I had yet to find someone else who did.

"I'm not going to kill you or hand you over to the minotaurs."

I jumped from my fantasies. Mendelv was holding out a cooked rabbit leg. The griffin and dragon blood must have made me more carnivorous because I took it without grimacing. "What?" I asked, popping out my retainer and pocketing it before tearing into the roasted goods.

Mendelv stared at me like I was an exhibit at the zoo. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"Physically," I corrected around a piece of meat.

"You know what I mean, Ana," the elf scowled.

I didn't respond; too busy gnawing the cleaned bone. "Can I have another please?" I inquired eagerly, dropping the picked bone. Being a mutant was hungry work.

Mendelv didn't say anything as I accepted another cooked leg from him. "Itadakimasu," I thanked in Japanese before eating the second appendage.

"What does that mean?" asked Tasslehoff, munching on a slice of bread.

"Thank you for the meal," I informed them. "It's said before the meal and when I'm done I say 'Gochisoosama' which is thank you for the meal, but after I'm done eating."

"What language is that?" the kender asked.

"Nihonese," I said. I wasn't lying. Japan was 'Nihon' in Japanese.

I heard bushes rustling and rocks shifting the same time Mendelv and Tas did. Enemies or spies were close. We doused the fire, cleaned up, and took off at a quick, tight striding pace.

* * *

A/N: I don't own Shrek, Maximum Ride, Lord of the Rings, 'Angels' by Within Temptation, or Care Bears. 

**Itadakimasu**- thank you for the meal (before eating)

**Gochisoosama**- thank you for the meal (after eating)

**Nihon**- Japan


	11. The Players of Gilean

"Watch out for that tree!"

"Mayday! Not my payday!" I yelled, rhyming, flapping or trying to glide. My arms covered my face as I automatically tucked in my wings and crashed onto the ground. I did three summersaults, skidded a few feet, inhaling a month's worth of dust, and stopped. I'd missed the tree, but hit the ground. Again.

"Ow," I moaned, sitting up. My arms were scraped up, my clothes were torn, and I hurt.

"Are you alright?" Tasslehoff's voice asked from the small cliff.

"Do I _look_ alright?" I retorted, red-faced.

"Why didn't you take your pack?" shouted the kender, holding up my backpack.

"I can't even glide yet!" I hollered. It would be disastrous if I tried to fly or take off with my backpack. The extra weight would double my crash factor. Now imagine jumping on a trampoline with two dictionaries in your arms and then flying off the trampoline. Not a pretty picture.

I brushed myself off, inspecting for injuries while stretching my wings. The territory was cracked and dry from years of drought. Obelisks of stone offered the only shade in the short stretch of barren desert. Hidden fissures and small cliffs were everywhere. I guessed we had strayed too close to the looming mountains on our left. The peaks were snow-capped on the purple mountain majesties- a perfect Kodak moment.

"So how do you track things or animals? Like tell how far ahead of you they are or the individual footprint?" I asked Mendelv after fifteen minutes of waiting. I had spent those minutes, after passing self-examination, watching them scale down the cliff with my handy-dandy raptor vision.

The elf crouched and I glanced down. He pointed at a footprint made by a shoe. "A human adolescent with unusual shoes is within reaching distance of my arm and was standing here for approximately five minutes, shifting her weight," the ranger observed caustically.

"Hey!" I rewarded his observance with a light push, causing him to fall back on his arse.

"Repeat the running start again, but this time try _flapping_," advised the elf, nursing his wounded pride.

"You two are buying me new clothes in Sanction," I scowled, taking a running start toward the ledge. I leapt off. "Flap, flap, flap," I murmured to myself as I felt my stomach drop. _Have I lost my sanity, my temerity? Why am I throwing myself off cliffs?_ "Up, down, up, down, up down," I muttered, my wings stroking up and down.

My wings tired and I stiffened them, gliding on an air current. This time I managed to stay afloat for more than a minute and my stomach returned. I was one with the wind, my body gone. I laughed, tilting my wings from side to side, experimenting. As gravity took effect, my wings stroked quicker and shorter than if I had been using long, slow beating to stay aloft. I managed a semi-graceful landing onto my feet.

"Kanpai!" I cheered, jumping up and down. I'd managed to land with feet, not face. About time after all my klutziness. Flying wasn't so bad once the landing was nailed. I hugged Tasslehoff and even Mendelv when they ran over, impressed. "Kanpai!" I repeated, pumping a fist into the air.

"So what does flying feel like?" Mendelv asked impatiently.

"Have you ever tripped before?" I inquired.

"Yes. I almost killed myself on that last cliff," snorted the ranger.

"Do you remember the sensation of pure fear and exhilaration before you caught yourself or landed?" I persisted.

"The terror, yes," he nodded.

"Well, pretend after you've tripped a wind comes up beneath you and you soar away on it. Do you remember your muscles tensing and your heart leaping into your throat? Or feeling the wind caressing you, running through your fingers?" I asked. "Or terrified every second in between that you would suddenly fall into an abyss and break every bone in your body?"

Mendelv didn't answer.

"Ana, you never answered his question. He asked how flying felt," Tasslehoff reminded me. "You described taking off, but not how it felt."

"It's like love: taking off is like jumping off the cliff- you have to be inspired to jump and when you do, it's completely reckless, so _natural_ yet you're afraid of falling. Yet equally, flying is one of the best ecstasies and thrilling experiences out there. I mean, who needs drugs when there's flying?"

The kender and elf glared at me.

"Anyway, in that moment between the ground and when you tripped, you're experiencing the freedom of your body, of gravity, spitting on human morals and the very laws of nature, and going through pure joy," I smiled, grinning like a drunken, love-sick fool. I was in love- in love with the wind.

"How does that defy the laws of nature?" Tas asked. "Does that mean you're an abomination or abnormal?"

I inwardly winced at the harsh words. "Erm, well, humans, elves, kender, minotaurs, dwarves- none of us were built to fly. Dragons, griffins, and birds have hollow bones, we don't. All of us are under the same cruelty of nature- wishing, staring up at the sky enviously at them, wishing we could fly. For humans, it's the worst. We're totally senseless to the world around us- humans can't sense anything wrong by faint feelings in the air, by scent, or sounds."

I paused to take a deep breath and continue my awesome-sounding speech.

"The falling when you trip is freedom of oppressive restrictions and boundaries, when your aging, bigot of a body doubts itself and the limits. So-so…" I trailed off, realizing the gravity of my situation.

"So?" Mendelv persisted, placing a hand on my shoulder.

I bit my lip, staring at the ground. "The little, chosen band- those who _do_ fly- are few and far-in-between because…" I took a deep breath, loathing myself "because they are the ones who change the world, break the rules."

I could practically hear the lyrics to 'In the End' by Linkin Park singing in my mind, reminding me: _"I tried so hard and got so far…but in the end, it doesn't even matter. I had to fall to lose it all, and in the end, it doesn't even matter." _I couldn't escape it, it had come back to bite me. My stupid qualities I hated about myself- the ones that, if I accepted them, could allow me to rise over the crowd.

"They are the ones who destroy tyrant empires, start revolutions, and endure unfair and harsh hardships but usually come out triumphant." I bit my lip to keep from crying. This was one of the things I desperately had been running from all my life- and like in the cartoons, it suddenly appeared before me, much to my and the cartoon's dismay. "Flying is a science and passion, a talent, a power, control of wind, of wild freedom, but control and understanding."

Without another word, I took of running, flapping my wings so I could take off and begin running away from those qualities again.

* * *

"What's the fiasco?" grumbled Tas as another man was pushed into him in Sanction. The man yelled, "Kender!" as his hands flew into his pockets, backing away. The classical ripple effect made the kender our personal Moses. Mendelv and I stayed close behind Tasslehoff before the crowd closed behind him. 

A colorful flyer nailed onto a wooden post read: _Gentlefolk of Sanction: you are affably encouraged to the premier of an original play to be performed by the Players of Gilean. _The handout gave a list of plays that were to be executed over a period of two days. Beneath the plays were the characters and the thespians acting as said character. My eyes found the show timings.

One was beginning in five minutes.

"A play by the Players of Gilean!" the kender beamed, trembling with anticipation. "They're a famous group of immortal actors who travel across Krynn! C'mon! _The Kender Calamity_ is starting right now!"

We weaved through the crowds at break-neck speed. Mendelv, Tas, and I skidded to a halt to see a big man wearing a Friar Tuck outfit with a golden rope tied around his waist. "-hope you enjoy our play," he finished, spreading his arms wide as if to embrace the entire crowd.

"We made it," Mendelv whispered as the fat man waddled off the stage.

* * *

I was ready to impale myself on Mendelv's sword. 

The play _sucked_.

Well, for the time period, it was beyond expectation, but to me it was like watching a cheesy, overly dramatic video from the 1970's. It was horror fest. I could _see_ through the illusions, they were bad –no, that would be too kind…_terrible_- computer graphics. Everything was low grade from the bright costumes to the overuse of cosmetics. I gave the actors credit for having dirt smeared on their costumes, acting and speaking in the age, but I remained unimpressed.

Plays would never beat a good cinema. Like _Lord of the Rings_.

I would run out of fingers and toes before naming all the movies with better graphics and performance than this paltry play. Simon from _American Idol_ would have agreed with me.

Repressing suicidal urges, I scowled as I glanced around. Everyone's rapt attention was on the stage; even Tasslehoff was too captivated to borrow interesting items. Shifting my weight for the umpteenth time, I crossed my arms and frowned at the stage. Standing the entire play was not on my list of things to do.

Zigzagging through the audience with total disgust written on my face, I stormed toward a deserted tree to sit under until the finale. At least that had been the plan until the fat narrating friar who had been on the stage earlier intersected my path. "Not satisfied?" Pillsbury Doughboy inquired, cocking his large head to the side in a puppyish manner.

I nodded with a frown. Who was this dude?

"What do you find dissatisfying?" the stranger persisted, folding his pudgy fingers across his overextended midriff.

"I can _see_ through the illusions! They're terrible," I sighed. "The actors resemble prostitutes with that much make-up slathered on their faces. I won't even get started on how thick the drama is. I'll get ill, but the speech is superb."

Pillsbury Doughboy's head turned toward the stage before returning to me. "I don't see anything wrong. Perhaps plays designed for the faint of heart are not for you," he suggested mildly.

"Of course you don't see anything wrong. You're one of them. You've been around the Players of Gilean, adjusted to their styles and the modus operandi," I said and added as an afterthought, "Faint of heart? The…the awfulness of this act is going to make my heart faint!"

Friar Tuck was silent. My griffin/dragon hearing cursed my annoyed brain with the clarity of the striking words that were being spoken on the stage. It only reminded me of the atrocities that irritated me to no end.

"You have valid points," the friar admitted, "but would you endeavor to put yourself in their shoes? Acting is not as easy as it looks. Neither is sorcery."

"I never slandered their courage," I shrugged, "and who said being a wizard was a bed of roses?"

His brows furrowed, almost conjoining to become a V. "You're a mage?"

"No, but I've read and heard enough from a wizard's point of view to know that wizards are strong people. I admire them," I smiled fondly. "If I could ever become a wizard, I'll die happy."

"Why would you want to become a conjurer? They face ridicule from everyone, distrust and anger. Some wizards are scarred or bitter from trials you and I could not imagine," discouraged the friar.

I snorted, "I don't care about the ridicule. I've had rocks thrown at me, mocked, teased, hit, abused, sexually harassed, and more. You don't have to be a wizard to get ridiculed. Personally, I couldn't care less if anyone was angry or distrustful of me. Why give a damn about them when they don't give a damn about me?"

"Some people do give a damn about your actions," the good friar persisted. "The past relationships with wizards and the communities are dangerous."

"Well, the communities should get over themselves," I retorted. "Who do they come crawling to help for? Wizards. Who assists them despite their distrust and disrespect? Wizards. Mages are unappreciated and worn thin. The day they stop helping the community is the day the community perishes, but the Conclave _knows_ that."

Glass on the nearest store windows shattered.

I cut my speech about the injustices of mages short.

Oops.

I blamed the magical dragon blood and my temper.

The magic had reacted from my anger and bitterness. I could remember the words Hagrid told Harry Potter: "Not a wizard, eh? Never made things happen when you was scared or angry? (58) "

The aftereffect was exhaustion, despair, and lethargy. Although I was more than willing to give in to the emotions, I knew a good cup of tea would cure it. Tea and mints cured every illness. Chocolate, duct tape, and running it over cured everything else.

"Would you like me to treat you to lunch?" the fat friar inquired upon hearing my stomach howl all too audibly. "You may consider my offer over the food."

I stared at him. "What offer?" If he had slyly offered something, I hadn't caught it.

"The offer of putting yourself in my troupe's shoes," Friar Tuck reminded.

_Oh shoot. Shooty, shoot, shooty, pa-toot-ey! Frick! Frickfrickfrick! _

I had just insulted the _troupe_ in front of its _director_!

_Fudge monkeys. What about an offer…_

_Oh yeah, huh! That offer. It flew completely over my head. I thought he was just using an expression. Wohoo! A fellow who toys with the different meanings of words! Note to self: seriously consider his offer…if he buys dessert…or if he doesn't keel over when he sees the bill._

You think I'm kidding?

At the last little, cute village we stopped at, Mendelv, Tasslehoff, and I had gotten a discount 'cause Mendelv was a well-known ranger around those parts and simply because Tas was a kender (if we kept Tasslehoff entertained, we got free food and board).

Tasslehoff and I had decided to have an eating contest. Myth, legend, rumor or whatever had it kender could outeat any species, excluding dragons. But flying and being a mutant made me hungry enough to devour a young dragon hatchling. I had won by a whole steak, two blueberry muffins, and fifteen raspberries.

I smiled at Pillsbury Doughboy. "Sure, I'll take up the first offer and consider the second. Just be sure you have your money where your tongue is wagging."

* * *

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Friar Tuck, Pillsbury Doughboy, the troupe leader (Sebastius) or the Players of Gilean, 'In the End' by Linkin Park, Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, Dragonlance, or American Idol; and if you like the flying speech: go to fictionpress and search for 'Queen of Glass' (it's **totally** worth it- and something to read while waiting for me to update .). 

(J.K. Rowling. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. U.S.A.: First American Press edition, October 1998)

**Kanpai**- (Japanese) cheers!


	12. I'm Just a Kid

I had a tattoo!

A frickin' tattoo of a black lotus! Although lotus flowers, albeit black ones, reminded me of a kraken's maw, I had it on the skin of my upper arm! I was an official Player of Gilean, an actor, a thespian.

Sebastius had shaken hands when I had agreed to join his crew, finding no cons other than the fact I have wings- which I could easily hide under a large windbreaker.

Sebastius told –and showed- me he (and everyone else) in the troupe had the mark near their shoulder, explaining it kept the actors in good health, fixed broken bones with a warm orange light, and gave inability to die by any means or injury- at least until the actor left the troupe, then the mark faded and aging began its deadly dance.

So, as of now, I was officially an immortal.

Pretty awesome, huh?

As long as I did what I was told, I could stay.

"You ate an awful lot for a child, even an adolescent," the director of plays scowled, his purse a few steel coins lighter. "Are you sure you don't have a stomach ache?"

"I'm sure, Mother," I sighed, repeating my answer for…I'd lost count. I wasn't going to tell Sebastius flying critically drained fuel and I needed to reload often, but didn't have the money to do so. Even though he was my employer, I didn't trust him _that_ much; trusting _anyone_ that quickly would be totally uncharacteristic of me.

My eyes shifted back to Pillsbury Doughboy. He could be, indeed, described as the Pillsbury Doughboy: so overweight he could be mistaken for pregnant, a real good imitation of Santa Claus but more demanding, heavy set, had big hands with a large, pale and squishy-looking kind of face that resembled a full Solinari- the moon of white magic. Sebastius was also balding but he had a gray stubble on his chin, thick eyebrows (I could nickname him Bushybrows!), and a double chin.

As far as personality, Sebastius was definitely vivacious, flamboyant. When meeting someone, he bowed and flourished his hand dramatically, speaking as though he were narrating a play but improvising. After he did the little dramatics, it made me feel like an awkward fledgling. Acting totally went against my nature.

"Hey, Sebastius, to give you fair warning," I said softly, waiting as he waved to passersby. "I have a bad case of social anxiety and stage fright, not that that compliments my shy nature."

"Speak louder, girl, _project_," he made a motion with his hand brushing outward from his throat, which, back on Earth would have meant he was flipping someone off. His light scolding made me retreat inward. I felt so _uncomfortable_ like I couldn't relate with this character, this professional actor or he would reject me because I was a genetic freak.

I began fiddling with my fingers, blushing with embarrassment, and gazing with avid interest in the grubby cobblestones I was about to walk upon. "I have social anxiety and stage fright," I muttered.

"I've never heard of social anxiety," Sebastius said thoughtfully, scratching his head.

"It's like being shy, but the person looks for all the negative aspects of the conversation- disapproval, thinking someone noticed a minor mistake and then blowing it up to the size of a mountain inwardly, feeling inadequate…" I trailed off uneasily.

"You have poor self-esteem," clucked the troupe leader, clicking his tongue.

_No shit, Sherlock. What are you? Master of the Obvious?_

Outwardly, I chose silence to answer his comment. Maybe I was a better actor than I would admit to myself. Although I acted all smiley and as though no storm clouds dominated my life, in fact, I masked my problems, frowns, and thoughts so well no one could read me; so I was a poser. If someone tried to find the answer in my eyes, the only thing those orbs reflected was a sly smile that said: _you wish you could read me, don't you? Nice try. _

My dark physique and timid yet aloof personality helped me avoid prying questions while my silence answered all the questions. Some words that had been used to describe me were: shadow, darkness, air, water, mysterious, sorrowful, tormenting, and scary, but that's just my bad side.

Okay, enough about me- getting uncomfortable leasing this much info. A mind reader could be eavesdropping and scribbling my thoughts down with fangirlish glee. Besides, I already knew all this stuff about myself, why repeat it?

It was a finale of the play. The troupe –my new homies- were standing in a row on the stage, bowing, to a hearty applause of an audience that was throwing roses and some coins. They gave a dramatic bow and it was all I could do to keep my meal down. Okay, drama disgusted me. To me, it was like: _Get over it already! Move on!_

"What am I going to do in the troupe?" I asked, looking up at Sebastius, feeling short.

"You are going to become an apprentice to my stage mage," the director of plays informed me with a sickening charismatic smile. _Hey, what a funny rhyme._

As Sebastius and his girth wended through the crowd, I lightly pinched his fuchsia shirt- the man was either color blind, had no sense of color coordination, or was a walking fashion statement. He had decided to change costume in the bathroom of the restraunt, reappearing in the fuchsia shirt, cucumber green leggings, yellow pants that were too short for him, black boots, and a belt. I had nearly choked my food from laughing so hard before asking if he was from the circus and had seen my troupe leader in the bathroom. He had merely joined my explosion of mirth.

Nearing the troupe made my stomach fill with lead dread. Oh hell, I tended to start rhyming when things didn't go well. See what I mean? The mounting tension made me want to scream! Vomit, and scream _again_.

"Hi-diddle-dee-dee, an actor's life for me. A high silk hat and a silver cane, a watch of gold with a diamond chain," I sang from Pinocchio to ease the ulcer-inducing anxiety. "Hi-diddle-dee-day, an actor's life is gay (_happy_)! It's great to be a celebrity! An actor's life for me. Hi-diddle-dee-dum, an actor's life is fun."

Sebastius began to hum along and, although he didn't know the words, the repeating rhythm wasn't difficult to catch onto- the song had come from a child's movie!

"Hi-diddle-dee-dee, an actor's life for me. A wax mustache and a beaver coat, a pony cart and a billy goat," I sang in a whispery voice to myself, clenching and unclenching my right hand. "Hi-diddle-dee-dum, an actor's life is fun. You wear your hair in a pompadour, you ride around in a coach and four, you stop and buy out a candy store- an actor's life for me!"

"Bravo, bravo," clapped Sebastius, "Where did you learn that song?"

I blushed, pleased and embarrassed by the compliment. I didn't take compliments well either, it made me feel as though the person thought of me in an alien way I wouldn't like and begin treating me with respect I didn't deserve…and I was afraid of being great. "A children's book."

My new acquaintances piled off stage and gathered in a semicircle around their leader. With each new face gazing at me, my nerves became more and more taut. _How could I have been so foolish? There were so many people of different races! I could never fit in. I was one of a kind, a genetic freak. Why had I doomed myself to this humiliation in my delusional hope for friendship and human affection? I can see how they're scowling at me already, gawking at me like a wild beast in a menagerie. _

In truth, they weren't scowling or gawking, but merely looking me over to see what I'd amount to- it was just social anxiety, nervousness, and shyness all scraping against my poor nerves _all at once_. My mouth had gone dry, and I felt myself shaking like a leaf desperately holding onto a branch as an autumn wind came to blow me off my perch.

"Excellent! A master piece in the making, poetry in motion!" applauded the troupe master. Apparently he ignored constructive and flaming criticism. I kept my face neutral- which wasn't hard when I was inwardly ripping my hair out. "This is the newest addition to our merry little group- Ana." Wait a second, I don't recall ever telling him my name…

But I didn't have the luxury of distracting myself with how he had known my name. The spotlight was on me. Oh hell, the spotlight was bright and blinding. _Everyone is staring at me, waiting, just waiting for me to make an ass of myself!_ I mentally screamed. If you couldn't tell, the spotlight terrified me to the point of pissing my pants.

"Salutations," a sweet, shy, angelic girl's voice that was _definitely_ not _mine_ greeted, bursting from my lips.

There were a few enthusiastic "Welcome to the troupe!"s and more disinterested "Hey"s. Yeah. I was going to get along so well with these guys. The sarcasm was practically cascading off my mind much as 'innocence' radiated from my introverted being at the moment.

The troupe dissolved to eat, rest, reapply stage make up, or whatever actors did between plays. Even Sebastius had vanished. I was left there, feet glued possessively to the spot. Another song from Pinocchio came to mind, one that made my head tilt back and stare into the caribbean blue sky: "When you wish upon a star, makes no difference who you are. Anything your heart desires will come to you," Jiminy Cricket's voice serenaded in my mind.

_You'd better be right Jiminy, or you're first on my squish list. I just wish I can get through this without totally exposing the fact I'm from the future, Earth, or a wing nut too badly. Is that asking too much or too little?_

"Like a bolt out of the blue, fate steps in and sees you through when you wish upon a star, your dreams come true," Jiminy answered. Or maybe he was just answering how I wanted him to or it was how the song naturally ended.

Giving a small sigh of despair, my gaze returned to Krynn as a cheerful voice –kender's- piped up, "New kid, want to be my friend?" He had blond hair in the genial topknot but decorated with beads and one bang hung loose. His green-blue eyes flashed happily. It was nice to be around a kender again.

I flashed him a shy yet friendly smile. "I would be delighted."

* * *

Over the next month, I had traveled to Neraka, Godshome, Gargath, Throytl, Kalaman, and Dargaard Keep. I mastered basic illusions and spells, but my favorite trick was to weave two spells together, have one go off as a distraction and the other reveal my ulterior motive/target/victim. I learned some elvish, dwarven, and minotaur- just tidbits though, most being particularly colorful words. When I wasn't studying, performing my illusions, or studying my script (that sneaky bastard, Sebastius, had me play several minor roles), I went flying- invisibly. 

Yet despite all these accomplishments, I hadn't made any solid friends, only people I knew- acquaintances. The kender I had befriended had already moved on from the troupe, leaving magic and flying as my only consoles. After creating a spell to charge my music soon after the kender left, I added music to my comforts, soul food.

Sebastius had received a letter but he was so secretive about it, none of the troupe could make out where he was leading us or the contents of said letter. It was obviously an invitation from someone with curly lettering.

"Move, Ana," ordered Bilg, a cranky new ogre to the band.

I did so quietly without complaint even as my mind screamed not to move until he used manners and a polite tone. Yep, that's how I was treated. Now, amongst the troupe, I was known as several things: a manhater, a recluse, the newbie stage mage, and psychotic. _Hhm_, and the group wondered _why_ I didn't deign to associate with the likes of them…

I heard the things they said behind my back when they thought I wasn't listening or too deeply engrossed in my studies- take now for instance: I was staring at the pages of my book, attempting to concentrate.

"Who are you?" Bilg asked. His foul breath nearly caused me to asphyxiate.

I ignored him, hoping he wasn't talking to me.

"Who are you?" the ogre drawled slowly and I _knew_ he was addressing me –or trying to- but I pretended to be in intensive reading. Suddenly the book snapped shut and was whisked away from my hands. I stared at the empty palms before my brain connected who had taken my book.

"Please give my book back," I requested calmly, trying not to glare at the bully.

"I asked you a question, girl," the bully sneered, holding the book away as I leapt to snatch it back.

"What's your question?" I asked irritably, glowering and standing still.

"Who are you?"

"I'm the girl who's going to whip your sorry ass to Kendermore if you don't give me that book back," I replied, in an extremely black mood from having my book stolen, "right _now_."

Bilg shrugged carelessly, the action 'accidentally' chucking my book out a convenient window as the wagons rumbled on the path to an unknown destination. "I'd like to see you try."

"_NOOOOOOOOO!"_ I howled at the top of my voice- which is pretty loud considering I don't speak loud or yell on a daily basis. I dove out the window after the book, ran and picked up the book before whirling around. I used magic to speed up my running until I reached the wagon I'd been comfortably reviewing literature in.

I heard Bilg's laughter.

I was _so_ pissed off. My magic roiled beneath my veins, begging to lash out and burn a permanent sting mark on Bilg…and I almost listened to it. _No one_ took my book and got away unscathed.

Actually, no one got away. Period.

I stopped running, allowing Bilg to think he'd beaten me and I had running to do. I smiled darkly as the last wagon passed me and several curious, frowning faces poked out the window. With tender loving care, I placed the book in one of my hollow pouches- a pouch that could hold a_ lot_ of things in it.

Then I began running.

I loved the speed as I used my magic to go faster than humanely possible, spreading and flapping my wings. Cold revenge filled my lungs and fueled my take off as I leapt from the ground, an updraft carrying me higher and higher…

Fifty feet…

One hundred feet…

Two hundred feet…

The altitude didn't bother me anymore. I kept climbing until I reached fifteen thousand feet. Even at this altitude, my raptor vision could make out a file of wagons. Despite the fact the wind blew away all my bad emotions, revenge is a tough sucker to get rid of- even while flying, but I had the perfect revenge, something that would make Bilg wet himself for a week.

That solved the revenge. Temporarily.

I smiled at nothing, to the sky, back at the sun, free from sadness, bullies, and secrets that remained on the superficial world below me. Even if I lost the troupe, I had inherited an inborn sense of direction from my flying blood donators- something I appreciated because I couldn't tell north from west without it. It was perfect up here, I decided, coasting on an updraft with a falcon. Utterly bliss, floating on cloud nine in seventh heaven. The air roared in my ears- a friendly sound.

It was a roller coaster without the coaster and the controls built into your body, if you can imagine that.

I banked sharply, performed a barrel roll for the heck of it, and tucked in my wings, screaming in delight as I plummeted toward the ground. I suddenly let my wings out and hung unto the maximum ride for dear life. I couldn't stop laughing as I went sweeping, soaring through the enchilada of air-current thrill rides, infinitely better than any roller coaster! I was high on the adrenaline rush.

_Enough fooling around, _I scolded myself.

_Shut up._

I gradually swooped downward, gliding on the warm current, suddenly realizing how much I had grown over the span of a month. Before I had been to Sebastius's shoulder and now I was at his eye level. The avian and dragon blood mutated my body to allow for flying and adaptation.

Different blood, different bones, different lungs, different stomach…gee, just about everything. I had grown taller, skinnier, weighed less, the rate my heart beat had nearly doubled, my appetite had obviously doubled…

One day I considered walking up to someone I didn't know and say, "Yo, I'm an unknown recombinant DNA life-form, a byproduct of science and magic gone wrong. Nice to meet you."

But who to say it to?

Oh well, I would know eventually.

As I descended closer and closer, I felt the oppressive problems, the dark clouds of the world again.

"I'm just a kid and life is a nightmare, I'm just a kid, I know that it's not fair," I sang sadly to myself as the iron-clad super cells above me ripped open and gallons of water came pouring down. "Nobody cares 'cause I'm alone and the world is having more fun than me tonight…"

I alighted on the rooftop of our troupe's wagon, folding in my wings, and lying on my back to with my fingers entwined beneath my head. "And maybe when the night is dead, I'll crawl into my bed, staring at these four walls again. I'll try to think about the last time I had a good time; everyone's got somewhere to go and they're gonna leave me here on my own and here it goes…"

_I love being in the rain because no one knows I'm crying. _

My voice faded into silence, the silence that had become my voice years ago- mute screams. I swallowed hard, fighting down the dogged lump in my throat. _I'm just a kid and life is a nightmare…I'm just a kid…I know that it's not fair…nobody cares 'cause I'm alone and the world is having more fun than me…What the hell is wrong with me? Don't fit in with anybody, how did this happen to me? Wide awake, I'm bored and I can't fall asleep…and every night is the worst night ever…_

_I'm just a kid._

* * *

A/N: I don't own 'I'm Just a Kid' by Simple Plan, 'When You Wish Upon a Star', 'An Actor's Life for Me', Jiminy Cricket, Pinocchio, Maximum Ride, the Players of Gilean, Sebastius, Pillsbury Doughboy, Santa Claus, or Dragonlance. 


	13. Demon Child

"Why is Bilg sobbing his eyes out? He seems to have had some nightmare, but he refuses to say what it was about," Sebastius asked.

I merely yawned, having had a wet night and now I was sick- pounding headache, congested sinuses, raw throat, and pleasantly miserable. I could barely speak; ergo I was glad I had extracted my revenge. Because sleeping in the middle of a pouring thunderstorm is near impossible, I presented Bilg's sleeping mind with images of Scream, Freddie, Jason, the Terminator, Alien, Predator, and Chuck Norris…Okay, Chuck Norris was a bit much, but I hadn't been thinking rationally.

Now I was paying for it 'cause the tattoo didn't cover illnesses. Stupid medieval insurance.

I staggered to find Thronden, the Master of Ceremonies and the right hand man, to inquire about some tea to ease my flaming throat. My head felt like hyped ogres had partied on it, jumping up and down on my skull while dwarves dug their pickaxes into my brain. I hated light. I hated sound, more like noise. I hated moving. I hated being sick. Curling under a warm blanket beside a roaring fire with a mug of herbal tea and a thick book was my idea of a good recovery.

"Thronden," I asked in a nasally voice. "Do 'ou know where I can fing stome tea?"

Thronden, a human with long brown hair and commanding height, turned around. "Sick, are we? I believe your master, Benshi, has some tea."

"Hanks," I nodded, swaggering off to find my master.

Unfortunately for me, he was meditating which meant I couldn't disturb him until he had come out of his 'trance.' I sighed, cursing my luck or lack of it today. Maybe flying would clear my sinuses and blow away the thick, smothering fog in my head.

The caravan of thespians was traveling on a road, a pretty wide road, which I guess was a main road and often crowded during holidays. So that meant I had to extra careful. Not because it was a holiday or anything, although it was fall and a barrage of holidays _was_ coming up, but because robbers and bandits liked main roads.

The procession halted as I began formulating an excuse to leave inconspicuously. Sebastius saved me the trouble by announcing in his rich, loud voice that we would be stopping for lunch. I smiled to myself. All I had to do was act like I had to take a whiz in the bushes, go invisible, and take off- without getting caught. But that was child's play.

The philosophy for getting caught was: 'if you freak, you get caught; if you play it cool, you're good to go.'

Plus teenagers are excellent liars when they need to be and skilled in the art of sneaking away and acting. Yipee for me; it wasn't that I was a _bad_ liar, just I didn't like lying because I was believable, a good kid, and lied really well. Lying made my insides squirm with a bit of guilt or made me worry an ulcer thinking I'd get caught.

So I strode boldly into the forest with my hands in my pockets, just putting distance between me and the temporary camp. I was going to cheat and see which major city this road led to; I mean, no huge road a frickin' _dragon_ could use as a landing strip would go _nowhere_.

As luck would have it, I found a clearing.

I spread my wings, smiling despite my illness, and prepared to take off.

As bad luck would have it, Benny, a fellow thespian who happened to be a little nutsy, happened to see me in all my glory- wings and all- _before_ I had cast my invisibility spell.

Oh devil below, I was going to be killed and baked for Thanksgiving.

We stared at each other, Benny and I did, for the longest time in stunned silence.

"Uhm, you hav' to tage a piss too?" I smiled weakly at him, folding my wings. He looked like he was going to have a heart attack or die from lack of oxygen, one or the other.

"DEMON CHILD!" he shouted, pointing a finger at me, backing away. Okay, before Benny had joined the Players of Gilean he had been both a worshipper of Chemosh, the god of the dead, and Mishkal, the goddess of healing after Chemosh had abandoned him.

Acting fast, I cast the invisibility spell and began my running take-off.

Even after putting ten miles behind me, my acute hearing picked up several more cries of 'demon child.'

* * *

I stared at a page of drivel or at least, to the normal observer that was what I was doing. In reality I was reading another language called the alphabet but for magic. Benshi was making me study it until I could repeat every vowel, consonant, and letter there was perfectly. Why? Because if I didn't learn to pronounce it right and said it wrong during a spell, there was a high possibility I would keel over dead. 

Even though my eyes burned, I was secretly pleased. I knew where Sebastius was taking us.

And I knew two special people who lived there.

Two people whose autographs I wanted.

And pictures if I had a camera handy on me, which I _didn't_, much to my everlasting frustration.

There were so many perfect nature pictures, Kodak moments, possible blackmail photos, and pictures-to-treasure-forever moments I quite literally tore a small patch of hair out of my head and promptly sobbed at my stupidity.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. It was running like water gushing from a faucet. Whipping out a handkerchief, I blew out the problem along with half of my mushy brain until a thick one blocked one nasal passage completely. My nose ached in protest as I pinched it again and blew into the tissue until I felt lightheaded. Then I crumpled the disgusting thing and stuffed it in its isolated pocket.

"Why are you not studying?" Benshi demanded, coming in his wagon where I was studying. He didn't trust me with his books in the wild where I could run off with them.

"Rhinorrhea," I replied, able to speak clearly until my nose stuffed again. That left a ten minute window.

"What?"

"Runny nose, Master," I told him.

"Zince you can speak without that nasally accent, repeat the magical alphabet to me!"

Now magical alphabet may remind you of obese ponies, gleaming unicorns with lethal javelins growing through their foreheads, and the 'magically delicious' cereal Lucky Charms, but snickering in front of Master Benshi was a difficult thing to do when he acted serious. Although he was a human, he looked like a French dude- same greased back hair, wacky mustache, face structure, and acted French. I had even said a bad word to him in French to mock him when he had said something rude about my outfit.

After failing the exam twice, I managed to pass with an 'acceptable'. Master Benshi handed me back my confiscated beginner's book where I had written the spells he had already taught me. I usually pestered him until he relented into teaching me more magic.

Like now.

"Master Benshi."

"Hm?" He didn't spare me a glance.

"I'm not sure, but I believe I know where we are headed," I said casually, glancing through my precious booklet for graffiti or damage of any sorts. One of Master Benshi's weaknesses was curiosity because he was one eighth kender; he also prided in knowing everything, especially secrets, but he didn't know mine. That's part of why he was willing to take me in as an apprentice.

He was convinced I was a mentally scarred child from another country and I was sent over to Krynn because their nuthouses couldn't handle me.

I like his sarcasm.

I had his undivided, rapt attention yet I kept my cards close to my chest, calmly closing my book. Although Sebastius had turned off the main road and it seemed as though we were headed towards a cliff, I had seen all the pathways…and they lead to the same place.

The same huge town.

"What do you want?" he scowled.

"What _ever_ do you mean?" I asked, voice laden with feigned sweetness and innocence.

"You always do zis to me when you want zomething!" He yelled rather loudly. "Always with the voice of angel, the 'I-am-not-capable-of-wrong-doing' face! Name your price!" I watched him cross his arms, his chest puffed out, face red, and nostrils flared.

I gave a devious smile. "I'm glad you gnow me so well, Master." Nasal accent was back.

He merely snorted.

"Where wazz our last performance held?"

Benshi deflated like a balloon, knowing I was baiting him. His shoulders slumped dramatically and he leaned forward as if his back were breaking under a heavy burden. "Lemish, in the ogre country," he sighed wearily.

"Whish direction are we headed?"

He flopped back into a chair, resting an elbow on an armrest and propping up his chin with his palm. "South."

"We crossed a sea, did we not?"

"Schallsea," he nodded.

"What piece of nature are we headed for?"

Master Benshi exploded. "Why must I answer theze stew-pid queztionz!? Juzt tell me!"

I kept silent as my fingers cracked open the beginner's book. Everyone in the troupe knew when I got engrossed in a book I was so focused I couldn't care less about anything except the book, much less hear voices speaking to me.

"A mountain," Benshi grumbled.

"I won't say anymore until you teach me more magic," I ransomed. "It'll be a while before we get there. So begin your teachings, Master."

He silently threw a fit, flailing his arms in the air as his cheeks ballooned. When my Master was calm enough to yell at me, he exploded in a swarm of cursing as he stamped his foot on the floorboards childishly. I leaned back as he stormed close, spitting as he cursed in different tongues, veins bulging from his neck and temples.

Oh, and Master Benshi is Ergothian.

Meaning he can swear like a professional sailor or war-hardened veteran, even a combo of the two.

But he had absolutely _nothing_ on how Earthlings swore.

Basically, Master Benshi was adding to my expansive vocabulary and teaching me how to compose an entire sentence made of curse words.

I sat back, snatching a quill and paper, scribbling quickly.

Of course, since my Master knew I was writing down the extremely not-nice words, it made him angrier. This caused him to curse faster, more veins to show themselves, yell louder, and try to hit me. Anticipating this, I had put up a shield in advance. Now it was World War II as he transported us outside and we began battling.

I mean, literally, battling with magic as in _hurling_ spells at one another.

To damage severely.

I tried to calm him down. "_Tak'kelihatan edar, pesona semua dalam!_" I said, using the necessary components.

There was a quick flash of sparkling light in a circle. Everyone who had been watching fell or slumped over, gazing at the individual blinking lights parading before their eyes, including Master Benshi. Their faces were blank with a dreamy quality, almost lucid. A few of them drooled.

Oops.

My top teeth tore at my bottom lip, ripping away the pink flesh.

I remembered Master Benshi's words, when he had been a lot nicer: 'You can not think something and it will happen. It does not work that way. Magic is exact, clear-cut. Combinations of spell components and words, even the positions of the moons must balance it.'

I went to each victim of my spell except Benshi, who I left lying face first in the dirt, and said a wake up spell before touching them. Sebastius happened to appear when I was waking his second in command, Thronden. "Did something happen?" the Master of the Troupe inquired. "I heard shouting and cursing."

_He knows._ "Verbal spar, Sebastius, only practice. I was honing my magic and learning how to stay quick on my feet," I smirked up at him as I moved to the last victim.

"It sounded like intense training."

"The world is intense, sir," I responded, trying to see how long I could play at his aloof game. We both knew that he knew what had happened.

Benny sat up, rubbing his eyes and stretching. Then he found me crouching next to him with my hands still extended in his direction, me having been distracted by Sebastius, and flipped his lid.

"DEMON CHILD!"

* * *

A/N: I don't own: Scream, Freddie, Jason, the Terminator, Alien, Predator, Chuck Norris, Kodak, Lucky Charms, the Players of Gilean, Krynn, Dragonlance, or the spell mentioned above. 

"_Tak'kelihatan edar, pesona semua dalam!_"- a quick flash of sparkling light in a circle, target falls on back while staring at sparkles dancing in front of their eyes. Faces are in a lucid, dreamlike state.


	14. Realization Hits Home

Realization struck me as the Players of Gilean traveled toward the big city, the city where everyone lived in tree houses.

It struck me that I couldn't remember what my parents or brothers looked like.

I couldn't recall their faces.

I had forgotten the sound of their voices.

I barely remembered their names.

I could dredge up tidbits of information they had told me, or memories of things we had done, but not their faces…

Icy fear filled my lungs and I couldn't breathe. My breaths came out in frightened, shaky gasps.

_Did I ever have a mom or dad? Or siblings? Yes, I know I did. But…I can't remember them! I-I don't even remember their names!_

You know the feeling when you think of the size of the sun, universe, or how many people live on Earth and feel insignificant? Yeah, that feeling slapped me upside the face and was using my heart as a tetherball.

_What if I don't get back to Earth? Ever? I have so many theories from books and movies, but no way to calculate them or begin working…I'm dressed to kill with nowhere to go…Is my quest fruitless? Can I live the rest of my life out here? I could…but…I'd miss Earth…_

I cried quietly, feeling as if my tables had not only turned but were spinning in a sickening fashion, in a whirl of colors blending into one stomach-turning color. Because I was one of those types who can their emotions, I decided now was the perfect time to blow some emotional steam by listening to sad songs on my iPod to make me cry more.

Strange, yes, but this is me we are talking about.

In King Henry the Sixth, Shakespeare wrote: 'To weep is to make less the depth of grief.'

I wiped my eyes, hiccupping, reminded that I cried myself to sleep every night no matter the place. No, my life is perfectly fine on Earth- no 'evil, dark secrets' haunting my current life. My parents currently divorcing will probably screwed me up for life…I haven't been abused or really neglected…my brothers seem as sane as I…never been molested, raped, or slapped around by a male…

The only bad experiences I had scars from were elementary school.

Funny that, even though it was so long ago, I can remember every bad deed that so-and-so whose name is burned into my mind performed it.

Like the bullying. When I told Sebastius I had 'had rocks chucked at me, been mocked, teased, hit, abused, sexually harassed, and more', elementary school bullies had seen that my already pitiful self-esteem would be ground into nothing.

I knew why they had done it.

Jealousy.

They were jealous I was the teacher's pet, jealous I was a straight A student, jealous of my angelic, innocent being (I was never aware of cuss words until seventh grade and sex until the next grade- that's the full extent of my unawareness), jealous of me.

So they decided to take it out on me- just so they could forget what horrible people they are.

Jealousy really is a monster.

Terrible, isn't it?

I told my parents- it didn't matter. I told teachers- it didn't matter. So I quit reaching out, quit trying to speak out, and retreated as far into myself as possible. As someone once told me: 'Betrayal as that cuts deep into the heart.' I wondered how I kept myself from going emo or goth…probably my fake smile act that I can't help but perform.

It pops up automatically, even with friends, I feel '_happy_', my eyes light with joy, the holes are filled, but when they turn away -even for a moment- I feel so sad.

I wonder if that was the reason I became a Player of Gilean...because I'm already such a good actor at fooling everyone else and even myself for a while that I needed to 'act as myself.'

Oh well. As Diary of a Fairy Godmother rule number five advised: _Fake it till you make it._

And I was doing a pretty darn good job of it.

* * *

The afternoon's gloomy reflection must have showed in my mood judging by the way everyone kept asking if I was okay. I wanted to scream at them that nothing was okay, but said I was coping. 

"You must find a way around this obstacle."

I jumped and the top half of my body turned to see Sebastius looming over me from my sitting place. "What?"

"Find a way around the obstacle, scale it, dig under, or charge through," Sebastius suggested, sitting down. "Is there anything we can do to help?"

"No, there's nothing you guys can do," I murmured, hugging my knees to my chest and leaning my chin on my bony kneecaps.

"You don't have to do any task on your own, it's a choice," the troupe leader said and I had felt a philosophical discussion coming on. "You can either do it alone or have someone help. Choice is the greatest weapon. More powerful than magic, technology, even wealth…Choice defines who we are, who we chose to be."

_Choice…_

"'_Choice is the essence of our characters…'" I read that somewhere..._

"'There's no voice on the outside that can tell you more than the voice on the inside'," I quoted from Diary of a Fairy Godmother, feeling a bit offensive. Was Sebastius trying to pry? My anti-trust barriers were already in action.

"You should be more open to change," sighed the chubby director of plays.

"I could be a lot of things," I shrugged. "But I'm just me, and I could care less about inquiries and opinions."

"What about criticism?"

"You mean the kind that made me this way?" I asked, glaring ahead at the ever-flowing river. The dragon magic whispered to harm the ones who had warped my psychology, magic warming in my blood. I forced myself to think rationally- the ones who had caused that were in a galaxy far, far away.

I watched Sebastius get up and leave with silence the dead possess. Alone at last, I slipped out the ear pieces for my iPod to cheer myself up. "Like a warm summer day, like a warm day in May, babe, you make me feel so hot. Like a small butterfly, like a bird in the sky, feels like a star that I'm not."

I stood up and held my arms out as wings, wishing I could take off and never look back. "You told me things that I never knew. So what am I supposed to do? Running around like a little kid, one-two-three and I'm here, here, here! Like a dragonfly flying high in the sky, there is light above and beyond you and I. Like a dragonfly flying high in the sky, there is light above you and I."

I dropped my arms and sat back on the soft carpet of green, laying back, for once not worrying whether a bug would bite me or not. I continued listening, and the next song by the same artist –SMILE DK- began its consoling serenade.

"Ay, iyaiyai, ay, ayaiyai, a-a-a aiyaiyai, where's my samurai? I've been searching for a man all across Japan just to find, to find my samurai- someone who is strong but still a little shy. Ay, ay, ay, I'm your little butterfly. Green, black, and blue make the colors in the sky. Ay, ay, ay, I'm your little butterfly. Green, black, and blue make the colors in the sky," I sang, the volume too loud for me to hear my probably warbling voice. "I've been searching in the woods and high upon the hills just to find, to find my samurai- someone who won't regret to keep me in his net. Yes, I need, I need my samurai."

I hummed to myself as the troupe packed up. Tonight we would reach the place Sebastius had shrouded in mystery, the town where the inhabitants lived in trees.

* * *

A/N: I do not own: Henry the Sixth (it belongs to Shakespeare), Diary of a Fairy Godmother (it's a book), SMILE DK, their songs _Dragonfly_ or _Butterfly_, or the lyrics, or most importantly, the choice speech which is paraphrased from 'Queen of Glass' by the author, S.J.Mass, Part II: Chapter 10.

The next chapter will be more humorous to make up for this grim but important bit. It explains some things about the main character. Please R&R.


	15. Brother?

Solace.

Not just a word in the dictionary that means 'comfort in sorrow, misfortune, or trouble; alleviation of distress or discomfort.' (http://dictionary. /browse /solace)

Sounds like I needed to book a reservation there.

Fortunately, I had one in the form of the Players of Gilean.

All of the actors had fallen asleep except for Sebastius, the drowsy drivers of the wagons, and obviously me. How did I know our troupe master was up? I was sitting beside him in the front of a wagon as he guided the exhausted horse.

"You should retire," suggested Sebastius, slackening the pace.

"You should too," I responded, feeling slightly weary of our long journey. "As an insomniac, I'm not entitled to sleep no matter how mentally or physically exhausted I am."

"Perhaps you could try practicing a sleep spell on yourself, Ana. I want you refreshed and ready to study, practice, and rehearse your minor role." He patted my head as if I were his magical pet. The gesture felt demeaning and increased my grumpiness.

"If I use the sleep spell every time then I won't be able to fall asleep on my own," I frowned at him. "That's a necessary skill for me."

He smiled. "You will sleep well tomorrow night after the play."

"Ugh."

"I do not understand why you became an actor if you despise the spotlight that much," Sebastius told me. "By going on the stage more and more, you are adjusting and your fear of the spotlight will lessen."

"Pillsbury Doughboy, I believe you are ignoring social anxiety," I said with a wry smile.

"We will work on your people skills tomorrow," promised Sebastius.

I only chuckled as we pulled up beside a large wooden structure built in a tree. It had long winding wooden stairs leading to a larger-than-a-house building. I sucked in my breath. I knew what this was.

The Inn of the Last Home.

"WOOOOHOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!" I cried, pumping my fists in the air.

"Shut up!"

"What the hell?!"

"Go home!"

"Stupid kid!"

"_MAKE_ ME!" I jeered.

"You and what army?!"

"Don't make me come out there!"

"YOU _REALLY_ WANT ALL OF SOLACE SEEING WHAT YOU SLEEP IN?" I said with a hint of incredulousness.

"I SAID SHUT _UP_!"

"YOU SHUT UP!" I shouted back, loving to antagonize people. I giggled hysterically as more and more bamboozled or pissed off people wandered onto the wooden balconies and platforms in their night clothes.

"Good night, dear Sebastius," I laughed quietly, giving him a hug.

"You cheekiness will be the death of you," he grumbled, extracting revenge by giving my ribs a minor squeeze.

"Have fun," I smirked, vanishing into the wagon to sleep.

* * *

"Wake up, troublemaker," growled a rusty male voice. 

"Nuh?" I said, peeking through the crack of my eye.

Thronden suddenly withdrew from me and burst into a bout of coughing, waving the air away from his face. "Your morning breath alone could slay a dragon!" he wheezed, tossing a pillow at me. The plush square rebound off my head and fell to the wooden floor of the wagon.

"Why aren't you dead?" I murmured, smiling faintly.

"I barely inhaled your putrid exhale," he sniffed, throwing another pillow.

I shifted my head to show my frown and puzzled expression. "Try rewording that sentence. It sounds as though I was speaking on your lips, which I definitely was _not_."

"Can't resist me, can you?" he teased. "Lesser and greater females have fallen for me."

"Who _are_ you talking about, _old_ man?" I chortled, turning on my other side.

The reply was an upturned glass of ice cold water. I shrieked loudly, rolling away from Thronden while wiping the wet area on the blankets and pillows. He laughed and opened the windows.

"Noooo!" I wailed in Sméagol's voice, burying my eyes into the palms of my hands. "It burrrrrns usss! Not the lightssss, preciousss! Takessss it awaysss!"

"And you say you're a bad actor?" Thronden laughed, his voice fading or rather his voice quieted as he left the wagon. I heard a rapping on the window and lifted my head. Thronden's face was in it. I stuck out my tongue maturely. He gestured toward the Inn of the Last Home, meaning, 'Go there when you are ready.'

I practically flew out of bed, pulling the blinds down over the windows, shutting and locking the door.

It was time to meet some heroes.

* * *

Heroes of the Lance. 

Tika Waylan and Caraman Majere.

But now they were married.

I dashed up the stairs as fast as I could without killing myself by tripping or falling over the ledge. A similar sensation to a sugar and adrenaline high had possessed me. I was so excited I couldn't breathe. I had to take a few moments to compose myself outside, giggling hysterically from the adrenaline that was rushing through my head, causing a few people to stare.

I walked in the inn with a one hundred watt smile as I headed toward the table of my fellow workmen and women who were sitting near an unlit fireplace, eating.

"You seem cheerful," commented one of the female elf actors named Stella.

I nodded, unable to speak. The words were stuck in my throat along with a scream of fangirlish excitement. I wanted to scream! I wanted to run around! I wanted to jump up and down, cheering that I could rub it in all Dragonlance fans that I was actually meeting _the_ Tika and _the_ Caramon Majere, brother of Raistlin.

"What are you up to?" asked Bilg, narrowing his eyes.

I gave a chuckle, trembling from hyperness. "Oh, nothing of the least importance," I giggled innocently, feeling the desire to cause chaos and antagonize. Erm, I happened to be extremely, kenderishly annoying (and mischievous) when I was hyper. I bounced up and down in my seat, a ray of sunshine.

"Hello, may I take your order?"

I turned my wide smile on a waitress who did not have curly, orange hair, who did not have freckles, and who did not have green eyes. I didn't mind too much. Adrenaline- not just for emergencies. "Scrambled eggs and a piece of toast please, ma'am." My voice was extra squeaky and strained because of my excitement.

The waitress scribbled down the order, giving me a queer expression. What? I couldn't help it I was in a dreamlike state! I could possibly meet two heroes of the Lance! Who _wouldn't_ be excited? Never mind. I only cackled when she left, bouncing one knee rapidly up and down as I looked around with an unsane smile on my face.

A _real_ smile.

Albeit slightly disturbing to observers.

The troupe probably thought I'd finally lost it. "What?" I asked in a chippy voice, knee bouncing up and down at break-neck speed.

"Stop your knee! It's rocking the table," snapped Tog, the minotaur. "What has gotten into you?!"

"What hasn't?" I cackled which turned into a laugh as they all stared in amazement and disbelief at me.

The same waitress set down my plate on the table, frowning because I had reduced into a shaking pile of chortles. I looked up with the smile of a fan about to meet the idol. "Why are you guys all staring at me?" I forked an egg, sitting up.

"You are _weird_," one of the human males said, shaking his head.

"You say weird like it's a _bad_ thing," I replied, inhaling my food.

"Are you drunk?" the same human asked.

"On adrenaline."

"Not wine?"

"Yep," I grinned.

"Are you sure?" he inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes!" I laughed. "Just ignore my abnormally annoying behavior. I'm always like this when I'm hyper."

"No one gives her sugar or they answer to me," Thronden announced to the table. They all nodded solemnly.

"Hey!" I protested yet a smile remained on my face. After inhaling my breakfast, I practically skipped down the stairs, sorely tempted to leap from the railing and pop out my wings. Although I didn't I was desperately itching to fly and burn some unnecessary energy.

As I came toward the bare patch of earth where the stage was being set up, I saw Sebastius recruit two newbies- an elf girl and a male human. I managed to catch their names.

"-to the troupe, Torris, Jepolomianthus," Sebastius smiled largely, warmly shaking their hands. He motioned toward me and instantly the hyperness seemed doused. "Ana, I want you to play that song you played in Kalaman."

Me, not having that far of a memory, blinked. "Which song was that?" I asked.

"Something about '_Cartoon Heroes'_ by some nautical band," Sebastius said, cupping his double chins and rubbing them thoughtfully.

My face lit up. "Oh, that song!" I had Master Benshi help me formulate a spell that would amplify sounds- such as ones that came from my iPod. "Okie day, Pillsbury Doughboy," I saluted smartly and dashed to the skeleton of the stage where those who had minor or no roles were working to set up what was needed.

Threading the ear pieces up my shirt, I had them hang underneath my jacket that I never took off unless for flight. My fingers found the cool metallic surface of the noisemaking device and I took a furtive glance at my pocket to find the song. I performed the spell and the music began with a dramatic drum roll with a boom-boom-boom.

"'We are what we're supposed to be. Illusions are your fantasy. All dots and lines that speak and say what we do is what you wish to do. We are the color symphony, we do the things you wanna see, frame by frame, to the extreme. Our friends are so unreasonable. They do the unpredictable. All dots and lines that speak and say what we do is what you wish to do.'"

The alien music of my world was attracting curious people quickly.

"'It's all an orchestra of strings doin' unbelievable things, frame by frame, to the extreme. One by one, we're makin' it fun. We are the (I tweaked the lyrics) historic heroes- oh-oh-oh. We are the ones who're gonna last forever. We came out of a crazy mind- oh-oh-oh and walked out into your homeland.'"

A healthy crowd was gathering. I skipped a few unnecessary verses with a sly smile only I understood.

"'You think we're so mysterious. Don't take us all too serious. Be original, and remember that what we do is what you just can't do. We are the historic heroes-oh-oh-oh. We are the ones who're gonna last forever. We came out of a crazy mind- oh-oh-oh and walked out into your homeland. There's still more to come and everyone will be welcomed at the big (big) town (town) party.'"

The song ended and with a bunch of eyes on me, I escaped from the stage faster than a rabbit on speed. Sebastius took my place. "Gentlefolk of Solace, the Players of Gilean were invited here by your very own Tika and Caramon Majere." He paused as the people cheered for their Heroes of the Lance and I grinned, having guessed just that. "Be prepared for a special treat in thanks for accepting us so warmly into your homes."

"Want to go wandering around the forest?" asked a ten-year old named Stephian from our troupe, tugging on my shirt. He put on his watery, wide-eyed act complete with pouty, trembling lower lip and innocent expression. Fortunately I was immune to the Bambi face.

"Sure, but only around the Inn of the Last Home," I said, untangling his fist from my shirt. "Let me put some things away first." Like my iPod. I emptied my pockets into the velvet pouch from the aurak where I'd gotten my wings and hid it under a loose floorboard in the wagon. I put the loose floorboard in place and covered it with a blanket and pillow.

It was too warm for my jacket so I removed it, feeling exposed. You see, my jacket was like a physical symbol of a shield. A baggy shield that hid things, like me. I hid behind my jacket because it was something familiar, friendly, had always been there for me even when I was bullied (it's that old), or when I've been sick. The jacket has been my closest friend for the longest time. So, if I took off my jacket around a person or group it either meant:

a) I was hot

b) I was using it for a pillow or some other useful function a jacket can perform

c) I trusted that person enough to lower my first shield

See? The jacket is very symbolic. People who suggested that I take it off were people I did not trust because they were shallow, prying, nosy, and didn't see the method to my madness- there's always a method to my madness. I'm a smart, creative, logical being as I've realized. Why would I have a shallow meaning for something so precious to me?

There's always a reason. Some people –scratch that, pretty much no one- sees it.

I came out of the wagon, the upper half of my body exposed and vulnerable to the elements- namely heat and a slight breeze. No one in the troupe had ever seen me without my jacket on. Three guesses what they were doing and the first two don't count.

Yup, staring and commenting.

I followed Stephian around the huge base of the trunk the Inn of the Last Home rested in. I inhaled the scent of wet dirt, dying leaves, and nature. It smelled better than any perfume.

"Hey, what's that?" Stephian's shout distracted me from enjoying the scents. I dashed over to him, where he stood with his head tilted back, staring at an overhang from the Inn of the Last Home.

"I don't know," I shrugged, glancing around us. "Must be where the kitchen takes out the trash." Bits of litter such as broken glass bottles and broken barrels speckled and peered at us from the dirt. Some of the ground was stained a dark red and reeked of spilt wine. I stared at a crimson soil beneath my feet, kicking at it listlessly.

Stephian crouched down and fingered a brown jagged piece of glass. He showed it to me with a wide smile. "Look at this glass! It sure is big. Can I keep it?" he begged, doing the Bambi eyes.

"Absolutely not," I shook my head from side to side, frowning.

"Why?" he whined.

"Because I don't need you injuring yourself or others, least of all putting your welfare in jeopardy," I explained, plucking the dangerous translucent shard from his hand and replacing it on the ground.

We heard a scream from above and our heads turned to the heavens…where it was raining wine and one hell of a barrel. My first concern was for the frozen Stephian. The ground had glass poking from it. I instinctively gave Stephian a shove to push him from harm, fortunately and unfortunately, my magic instinctively reacted with fear and I had supernatural strength already. The poor little boy screamed as he flew through the air and landed on his back in a comfy patch of nature. It was too late for my escape.

I covered my head and didn't scream when the wine slapped my back, seeping through my clothes. I _did_ yelp loudly when the barrel broke over my shoulders and caused me to fall forward into the glass-infested dirt. I was back on my feet shakily picking pieces of brown glass from my shins, knees, and elbows. Luckily, those were the only places that had impacted with the ground.

"Are you okay?!" a panicked female voice yelled from above.

I ignored the voice, hissing as I yanked out the shards I could find. Tears oozed from my eyes. My shoulders royally stung from the stupid barrel. I hissed in pain arced across my back if I moved my shoulders. My wings had apparently been hit too. Today was turning out to be a relatively yucky day.

I tried my hand at standing and found, with mucho relief that I could. I stood, swaying vaguely, as I tried to pick out the shards in my elbows. I took a step as I nearly fell.

_Whoa, I stood too quickly. Damn, I feel so lightheaded! I think I'm gonna pass out. Well I've never really been one for fainting but ugh, stomach knotting. Take deep breaths. Close your eyes. And whatever you do- Don't. Throw. Up. _

But I retched three times anyways.

Now my head wasn't the only thing that felt balloon light.

Someone steadied me by holding my shoulders and I winced. A smile fanned on my lips as I stared at the person. She was pale, her freckles standing out on her skin, with wide green eyes and bushy, curly orange hair. My bamboozled brain didn't recognize her.

"Wheeeeeeeeeeeheeheeheeheeheeheeheee," I giggled, beginning to laugh for no reason.

"Oh gods," was all I remember her saying.

* * *

I woke up with the sensation that my skull was split open. The pieces of my skull were all colliding together like tectonic plates of land producing a headache of massive proportions. My shoulders fared little better. I groaned miserably. 

"You were after some of the Otik's wine, were you? Like the hangover?" Thronden chuckled, teasing as ever.

Loud voice. "Don't talk so loud," I croaked. "My head has caved in."

"You okay?" His quiet voice held more concern than it had a minute ago.

"As okay as a person with a caved in head and aching shoulders can be," I smiled weakly.

"One of the waitresses tripped over her two left feet and knocked the barrel of fermenting brandy over. Tika rappelled from the kitchen with a rope. She thought you might have a concussion from the way you were laughing before you blacked out," Thronden explained.

"I don't remember laughing," I frowned.

"Your mind was probably scrabbled as those eggs you vomited," said Thronden, trying to cheer me up.

"Ugh, I remember _that_," I scowled. "I can taste them."

Something small and circular was pushed into my hand. "Have a mint. Well, I have to get going. A play doesn't run itself. You are going to rest and take it easy the entire day. Your roles have been reassigned and Master Benshi can handle the illusions," sighed the Master of Ceremonies. "Oh, we burned your ruined foreign clothes after checking the empty pockets. The only spare clothing we have for now is a black robe."

"Alright," I grumbled over the loss of my beloved clothes. At least I had my jacket. Had I somehow, subconsciously known beforehand that bad luck would befall me? The mixed blood? Luck? The gods' grace?

Sitting up with agonizing slowness, I slumped in a technically upright position. I caught movement in my peripheral vision and locked on it. It was me. My reflection in a mirror. I was wearing a loose puke green blouse that hung off one shoulder and suddenly I paled.

"_Oh, we burned your ruined foreign clothes after checking the empty pockets." _

That meant someone had seen my wings because my shoulders were bandaged. So were the tips of my wings. And someone had given me a bath because I didn't reek of wine.

I had been caught red-winged.

Heh heh.

_Bad timing for a joke, dumbass_, I scolded myself.

I quickly changed into the black robe and noticed the bandages that wrapped around my claves, my knees, and elbows.

I needed to find out who had changed my clothing.

I could erase their memory of that or something.

Quaking in my boots with fear, I opened the door and began to walk toward the entrance when I heard someone's deep rumbling voice say, "Brother?"

* * *

A/N: I do not own: the definition of solace (that is a dictionary definition from dictionary. com), Pillsbury Doughboy, the Inn of the Last Home, _'Cartoon Heroes'_ by Aqua or their lyrics, Sméagol, Tika Waylan, Caramon Majere, Raistlin Majere (I wish) or Bambi. 

How do you like that, eh?! A longer chapter .


	16. The Inspiration to Jump

I turned around slowly and found myself face to face with…

The Scorpion King!?

What the hell?

Oh, my bad, the Scorpion King had black hair, not dark reddish auburn. And the height level was more like my head barely reached his shoulder. I stared up at him in astonishment and he stared down at me with equal surprise.

_Brother…_

"Brother," I murmured, my brows furrowing.

_Brother is what Caramon and Raistlin always call one another! I look like Raistlin? Before his Test. Wow, I don't know whether to feel honored or insulted. I'll pick the former. _

"Raist, what happened to you?! How did you reverse the gold skin, the eyes, the hair? Did the spell go wrong and that's why you're young?" Caramon asked, kneeling on one knee and staring me in the eyes.

My brain tried to keep up with his logic. "Uhm…"

"Raist." To my horror and embarrassment, his blue eyes filled with tears and he hugged me, nearly breaking every bone in my back, my ribs, and snapping my wings in half. I squawked with pain as my shoulders screamed with pain.

"My shoulders hurt, you fool!" I hissed automatically.

He immediately released me with an apologetic expression on his face. "I'm sorry Raist, but I'm so glad you came back." He put a huge hand on my shoulder. "Please stay until you can formulate a spell that will revert you back to your original age."

Sweet, he was practically my human slave.

But I wasn't that mean. I was too embarrassed.

"Caramon, I'm not your brother," I said. "I am a girl, not a boy."

He took in my foreign accent, way of speech, and the look on my face with an expression of thorough scrutiny. "What day were we born?" he drilled.

"July 17th, 326 A.C." I answered automatically, proud I knew the answer.

"What is the name of our half-sister?"

What a no-brainer. "Kitiara Uth-Matar."

"What happened during your Test in the Tower of High Sorcery we forbid each other to speak of?" His face was hard.

"I killed your illusion," I whispered, staring at Caramon's shoulder and wondering if he was on steroids. How could someone be that big!?

"You _are_ my brother," Caramon smiled.

Oops, I wasn't supposed to have answered that question. Kuso, Raistlin was going to murder me if he found out! Kuso! Kuso!

"I am _not_ your brother," I stated slowly for him to understand.

"Are you his daughter?"

What was wrong with this man?

I didn't get an opportunity to defend myself because Caramon was already dragging me with one meaty hand wrapped around my arm. I found myself presented before a robust female with Hermione-like orange hair, green eyes, and had her skin covered in freckles. Tika Waylan.

"Look, sweetheart, this is Raist's child," Caramon grinned, pushing me forward.

Tika frowned and I sighed, "Ma'am, please restrain your husband. I am in no way, shape, or form related to this fool or the famously infamous Raistlin Majere. If he doesn't stop molesting my arm, I'll hand him over to the police for assault and disturbing the peace."

"Assault?" the orange-haired barmaid frowned.

"He hugged me," I said wryly. "My shoulders hurt like a mother."

She fingered her well-known iron skillet. "Disturbing whose peace?"

"If word spread that I was Raistlin's daughter, there would be no peace. Not to mention Raistlin would probably bash me over the head with the Staff of Magius," I grimaced.

She leaned in my face with a dangerous smile. "If you think you're going to tell the police, I'll let it slip you are Raistlin's daughter." Curse her.

"Fine, just stop him from acting all creepy," I shrugged, edging away from Caramon.

"Caramon-" Tika began with a sigh in her voice.

"Tika, how can she not be Raist's daughter? Listen to her vocabulary. She treats me like Raist would," Caramon said. Ah, so that was why I was being mistaken for the black robe's offspring. _Note to self: in the case of meeting Raistlin, blame him for his brother crushing ribs and have him pay hospital fee._ The thought was vastly amusing.

"Listen to her accent, the way she uses words, the way she stands, Caramon," Tika retorted, gesturing her hand at me up and down. "That is not the style Raistlin spoke with or the way he stood."

"Tika, she looks and acts like Raist before the Test," Caramon said before turning to study me. "The mother must've had an excellent immune system."

I wanted to pull up a chair and grab my bowl of extra large popcorn.

Caramon continued. "This girl has the features Raist had: blue eyes, auburn hair although not yellow auburn, extremely thin, and tall. I'll be darned if she doesn't have his traits: intelligent, witty, and sarcastic. She even shares his passion for the magic."

"Can't argue with that. I am a beginner in the Art," I shrugged. I did have an intensive interest in magic.

Tika studied me for the longest time, struggling with the notion that I was similar to her hated brother-in-law. She ground on her bottom lip. "She lacks something that Raistlin has. She lacks a fire, the ambitions."

Well I wasn't a very ambitious person to begin with.

"That lack of fire could be from her mother," Caramon said after a moment, wrapping an arm around Tika's shoulder.

Tika tilted her head back and smiled slightly, "Maybe you are right."

They were about to kiss when I interrupted, "Ew, virgin eyes present here. Go get a room!"

"We do. You're in it," Tika smirked before kissing her husband.

"Not anymore," I said, faking gagging noises and dashing out of the room.

Somehow, the rumor that I was Raistlin Majere's daughter leaked out and strange things kept happening to me. For example, a strange man came up to with a suspicious smile and said to give my 'father' a spell book before cackling as he left. Just to see what would happen, I climbed a tree and dropped the book. It exploded. I found the man shadowing me and beat the snot out of him 'cause Raistlin was my favorite Dragonlance character.

I couldn't walk from one wagon to another without people whispering furiously, getting insulted, or receiving magical gifts for me or Raistlin. Most were insults to tell Raistlin, and of course, I couldn't resist insulting them back because of my love for antagonism.

The best part of being Raistlin's daughter was the solitude.

I was left alone. People flattened themselves against walls or ran when they saw me coming. The range of reactions was amazing. Except those of the troupe. Apparently the person who had changed me –the newbie elf, Jepolomianthus- had told Sebastius and Thronden I had wings, therefore I was a kyrie. So the story of my being finally came to that my kyrie mother was smitten with Raistlin.

I, of course, thought the wine or water was spiked and blamed the gossip on that.

More people showed to our play just to see me on stage, most being wizards. They were disappointed when I didn't because of my aching shoulders. The situation was both hilarious and stressing and annoying. I couldn't go anywhere without a bodyguard from the troupe. I used my magic to disguise myself from mages who came to…do whatever they had in mind to me.

Sebastius had his work cut out for him to keep people from gathering before the caravan of wagons. We left the next day with a barrel of Otik's wine and his famous spiced potatoes. It was no use. Wherever the Players of Gilean traveled, the rumor of Raistlin's daughter always beat us.

* * *

"I'm sorry, Ana," Jepolomianthus apologized for the hundredth time as I wiped a tomato from my arm. 

"Hakuna Matata, Jep, this is merely annoying," I told her. Strangely we had become friends. Well, not really friends but the closest thing to it. "You didn't start the Raistlin's daughter rumor."

"What does 'Hakuna Matata' mean, Ana?" Jepolblahblahianthus was giving me the look of a confused puppy with her head tilted to the side.

I grinned and broke out in serenade, "'It means no worries for the rest of your days. It's our problem-free phil-o-sohpyyyyyy- Hakuna Matata.'" That said and sung, I went to retreat into a cart with a sign that said Thespians Only.

I paused as halfway through the wagon entrance, wondering if I why I felt like J.D. from Scrubs. I shrugged and entered with a fond smile, recalling Dr. Bob Kelso's 'I-don't-give-a-damn- attitude' and Dr. Cox's oh-so-sweet sarcasm, not to mention the feuds between the Janitor and J.D.

How I missed Scrubs.

One of the highlights of my day.

I flopped back onto a bean bag with a dreamy smile. I loved Scrubs…Jumanji…Kate and Leopold…Flushed Away…Wallace & Gromit…Beauty and the Beast…

"On a nice day, I don't care what they say, I don't care what they say, I don't care what they say…On a- na na na na…na na na na…na na na na…It doesn't matter if you're going mad. It doesn't matter that this place is so sad," I sang, listening to my iPod. Being alone more often drove me to my sanctions- reading, drawing, writing stories, flying, or music.

One pro about the troupe knowing I had wings was I didn't have to hide it anymore. I could do a running take-off in front of them…I just hadn't yet.

Jep knocked on the door and came in. "I've been afraid to ask but…C-Can you fly?" she asked, gazing at me with wonder.

"Well that's a stupid question," I frowned. "You think they're souvenirs or ornaments?"

"No."

"Why do you ask?"

"I've never seen you take off," Jep mentioned.

I grinned. "Benny has."

"Ah, that's why he calls you demon child."

"Uh huh. It used to be a bit nerve-wracking, but now it's a fun joke I can tell at parties," I sighed, putting away my iPod. "The weather is absolutely gorgeous today and I don't want to waste it. So today you might get to see me fly; oh, and don't stand behind or in front of me."

"Okay." Jep seemed a bit dubious I actually could fly, yet blown away. "Can I ask another question?"

"Would it stop you if I said no?"

"Yes."

"Wow, didn't see that coming," I said, raising my eyebrows. "Shoot."

"What?"

"Tell. Me."

Jep began fondling a strand of white-blond hair. "I-I don't think I want to anymore."

"Aw, come _on_," I scowled. "That's cruel. You bait me and then drop me faster than a hot tamale."

The light blond elf maiden leaned forward and whispered almost inaudibly, "I like Torris."

"Do you mean like or like-like?" I asked.

When she gave me a blank look, I explained, "Like is the equivalent of a crush; like-like is closer to love." Using 'like' was a code to prevent males from knowing females were speaking about them.

"I'm not sure," she whimpered, red suffusing on her cheeks.

I sighed and began thinking about the signs of attraction. "Do you find yourself staring at him?"

"Yes."

"A lot?"

"Yes," she squeaked.

I smiled. "Don't be embarrassed, it's perfectly natural to have an attraction towards someone- preferably the opposite sex. Does your heart race when he looks at you? Are his simplest gestures such as brushing hair from his eyes sexy? Like…er, does it make you catch your breath?"

She wordlessly nodded, cheeks blood red.

"You like-like him," I stated. "Do you also get lightheaded if he looks at you? Do you get the urge to preen and try to do better than your best for him?"

Another nod.

"That's amore," I grinned, deciding to give her a light tease. "Man, oh _man_, you are sunk in it."

"What should I do?" Jep groaned, clenching her head between her hands.

"You should watch and see if he returns similar signs: staring, preening, acting macho for you, getting defensive if other males flirt with you but don't try to make him jealous, blushes when you speak to him…that stuff. Try flirting or doing things for him to make his lift a little easier," I suggested. "'Love is the sweetest of dreams and the worst of nightmares.'"

"I feel better after telling someone," Jep sighed, hugging a large pillow. She buried her mouth and nose into it, closing her eyes, before lifting her head again. "What if he doesn't return my affections?"

"Don't think about the 'what if's' or 'it could have gone this way's. It doesn't do any good," I told her.

"Do you like anyone in the troupe?" Jep inquired.

"No."

Her eyes widened. "Are you-"

"No! Don't even finish that question," I scowled. "I like males…just at a distance otherwise I get phobic of them. That's why I'm the man-hater of the group. To me guys are parallel to dogs. Sure they're cute, adorable, loyal, and tolerably messy, but at the same time you don't want them slobbering all over you. I just never understand their appeal unless it's blatantly obvious in the most obvious way."

"Like Tyrell?" Tyrell was a dwarf with a hearty attitude and a good sense of humor. Although he was stout and short, he assisted with the construction of the stage or else it would collapse. He made an excellent engineer. The hill dwarf was black-haired and had crafty lime eyes that knew their trade.

I blushed uncomfortably. "Sort of."

"You like him?"

"No, he's just someone to talk to. And just so you know, if I act incredibly shy around a guy or strange, it's not because I necessarily _like_ them, it's my anti-trust thing. I don't really trust people to much," I said.

"So when I told the troupe about the wings…" she trailed off.

"Yeah, I freaked a bit," I admitted.

"Sorry."

"Will you please stop saying that already?" An idea popped into my mind and I gave a crooked smile that meant trouble. "Do you want to show me how sorry you are?"

Jep hesitated, trying to think of the worst thing I would have her do.

"Tell Torris you have a thing for him."

"_No!" _she shouted and then lowered her voice to a furious whisper, "Don't say that so loudly!"

With a mischievous smile, I opened my mouth and slowly began sucking in my breath.

Jep tackled me, trying to cover my mouth. We wrestled and I managed to escape through a window with the elf girl in hot pursuit, yelling, "No! Don't say anything! Don't tell him that I like him!" I only laughed. We managed to capture the attention of the entire troupe. Obviously all the men were curious who dear Jeppie liked and were practically leaning forward to catch a name.

I darted toward Torris so I could weave behind him and through the other members, but I wanted Jepolomianthus to think I was going to tell Torris. Ah, the power of manipulation.

Guess what.

It worked.

"No, Ana," she wailed as she chased me around Torris. I was too busy laughing to have spilled the beans anyway.

"Jep has an aijin, Jep has an aijin," I sang when I got over my case of the giggles. Jepolomianthus shrieked and sped up. "She wants to huuuug him, she want to kisss him, she wants to" I spread open my wings and glided on top of a wagon and made a suggestive gesture with my body. "him." The troupe chuckled or hid their amusement and Jepolomianthus exploded.

"I do not want to do _that_ with Torris, Ana!" she screamed, red-faced. Her jaw dropped and she stared in horror at me. "You made me say it!"

I shook my head. "Merely the power of suggestion. You only assumed it was him."

Meanwhile, the man of the conversation was staring at the distraught elf maiden as other men of the Players of Gilean came up and began smacking his shoulder or back, telling him how lucky he had it. Back with me, other females were consoling Jep while shooting glares and telling me how insensitive I was.

I shrugged. "Sorry."

I spread my wings and jumped from the cart, wings carrying me up with a powerful down stroke. I knew everyone was staring at me, but it didn't matter. We were in a forest, heading north now. I felt guilty for making Jepoblahblahianthus cry, but she had been to terrified to jump from the cliff, not motivated enough to jump into love.

So I had given her a little nudge.

Now would Torris jump after her or would she fall?

* * *

A/N: don't own Scrubs (i wish), Dr. Kelso or Cox, the Janitor or J.D., Hermione, _Hakuna Matata_ from the Lion King, Jumanji, Kate and Leopold, Flushed Away, Wallace & Gromit, Beauty and the Beast, the song _Nice Day_ by Persphone's Bees, Tika Waylan, Caramon Majere, or the joke of Raistlin's Daughter . 

Aijin- lover (Japanese)

Happy Thanksgiving, ya'll!


	17. Fallen Angel, Tell Me Why

_A/N: Sorry for not updating sooner, but I had other stories to work on 'cause I'd been procrastinating them for this story. -.-' Bad me. Anyway, thank you all for being such patient angels! I hope you enjoy this chapter and this makes up for the long wait._

* * *

After practicing maneuvers in the air and visiting a town for an entire day, I flew back to camp in the darkest hour before dawn. My curiosity had driven me back, I must admit, and mounting guilt. Jeppie had seemed so vulnerable and I tended to be bitchy to people who I thought deserved revenge. I had blamed her for exposing me to the world, turning the spotlight on me, so the audience could throw their hatred, disgust, fear, and anger at me while I was blinded by the spotlight, petrified. 

Hence the equal-and-opposite reaction of exposing her greatest weak point to the one who could either destroy her or give her the wings to soar to the heavens of cloud nine- love.

I sat on a low branch of a big tree –I wasn't sure which kind because I'd never given particular notice to trees except the love of climbing the 'impossible ones' when younger; I ran my finger down a piece of bark, frowning, and inwardly whipping myself with the cat-o'-nine-tails with no mercy. I'm always harshest to myself.

So here I was -chewing myself out- when I decided to go apologize before guilt consumed me.

I snuck into camp, twiddling my fingers and tearing the skin from my bottom lip with my teeth. Not only did I feel like a total worth-nothing, but a thief and sneak. I tiptoed to Jepolomianthus's window of the wagon we shared. Luckily there was a slit in the thin, filmy material which was enough to see- oh _ew_.

The white-blond haired elf sleeping with the black haired, close-shaven cut Torris…neither wearing any clothing and half-wrapped in blankets. The sight was so unexpected and shocking I couldn't tear my eyes away almost like seeing a super hairy guy in a sequin dress with a low dip in the front. I snapped my eyes shut and dashed away from the brightly colored wagon.

"My virgin eyes," I groaned, covering them once again. Guess there was no need to apologize.

"Welcome back, Ana," greeted a familiar, ever-calm voice. "Did you enjoy your gallivanting?"

I lowered my arms to see Sebastius standing before me. "Not so much as I would have liked," I shrugged. "What did I miss?"

"Your elf friend and Torris are now lovers as you saw" I made a face, trying to banish the burning sight from mind "but you didn't hear my announcement. In two months time we will reach Palanthas, where I will visit my brother, Astinus," Sebastius informed me.

My jaw dropped. "Your _brother_ is _Astinus_."

He smiled. "That is the reaction of most."

I hugged Sebastius, or tried to but my arms couldn't quite reach all the way around. My arms flailed as I tried to get even my fingertips to brush one another. "Egh…errrr….grrr, curse your girth Sebastius. Can't. Reach," I scowled. "I can't give you a proper hug!"

Chuckling, he wrapped his massive trunk-like arms around me and I was caught between his overextended midriff and his arms. I sighed as several places in my back popped. I hugged Sebastius as much as I could manage, burying my face in his shoulder, purring.

"Good heavens Ana, you're purring! Are you also part feline?" the troupe leader asked.

"No," I chortled. "I purr when I'm comfortable or happy or warm, and in this case, I'm all three."

"You are an unusual child," Sebastius told me, setting me down. "No one in the troupe has ever fallen ill and yet you manage to come down with a cold. In all my time acting, never had I the pleasure of meeting someone with so much mystery shrouding them."

"Well that's the pot calling the kettle black," I smiled.

"Remember we will be going to Palanthas," Sebastius reminded me, returning to his tent. I frowned, feeling my blood run cold as he left. Usually Sebastius was almost like a psychic, a mediator. His words tended to be prophetic or fit the situation. If he was telling me to remember 'Palanthas' it meant I wasn't going to be seeing the Players of Gilean for some time and to join up with them later.

What 'journey' would I experience until then?

Obviously the journey was beginning now. I just had to wait for the means to ambush me.

And they did very shortly.

A stone hit the back of my head and I fell over, unconscious.

* * *

The back of my head was sticky and my hair clumped together there. Blood. It didn't take a genius to realize that. I kept my eyes closed and breathing slow and deep. Things were being set in motion, the things that would separate me from the Players of Gilean until Palanthas. 

I was scared, but I wanted to get a hint of where I was doomed to go. "Why are we doing this? Jepolomianthus is happy because the kyrie gave her the needed push," a frightened female voice whispered.

"This bitch was not trying to get them together!" hissed a more vicious voice. "She was trying to destroy Jepolomianthus's spirit! She didn't apologize, just flew off."

My limbs were bound together and something was wadded in my mouth- a gag. I was lying sideways, inhaling the sharp aroma of decay from the leaf-covered ground. Unfortunately my eyes were covered too, but that wasn't my main concern. I felt…empty and ill. My magic was gone, leaving me weak and sick to my stomach.

"She said sorry," the first female reminded anxiously.

"She mouthed it, Tiff," a third voice snorted. "The apology didn't quite reach her eyes. Those blue orbs were frozen over with revenge for Jep spreading the news that Ana was a kyrie."

"_The memories ease the pain inside, now I know why." _

"Did you just see the shocked look on her face when she saw Jep and Torris together?" the second harsh voice laughed. "She didn't expect them to become lovers. If Ana stays, she'll try to destroy their love."

"_I hope there is a way to give me a sign you're okay." Jep…_

"That's why we're gonna leave her here…after a little lesson," the second voice finished.

"Shaunacy, this is wrong!" Tiffany cried. I heard sounds of a struggle and Tiffany's cries were muffled.

"_Feeling so faithless, lost under the surface. Don't know what you're expecting of me, but under the pressure…"_

"Then we'll leave her here to rot in her filth," Shaunacy cackled. The first blow was to my stomach with a foot. I cringed but my cry of shock and pain came out all wrong. "Her magic is neutralized by the ring I put on her finger. It absorbs magic."

"Bitch!" Shaunacy cried. Her friends were being overprotective. I tried to roll away from another kick but the foot stepped on my thigh. I rolled, causing the attacker to fall backwards, cursing. I kept rolling, head spinning, but I crashed into a tree. Luckily all the damage they were throwing at me could be healed insanely quick because of my mutant blood.

"Whore! Slut!" Shaunacy and the other girl screamed and Tiffany, who had apparently broken away, was shrieking, "Stop! Stop this!"

"_of walking in your shoes (caught in the undertone, just caught in the undertone). Every step that I take is another mistake to you…"_

I squirmed and yelled and cried and tried to use my sucked-up magic all to no avail. Finally it seemed, they left. I was abandoned there, bleeding, bruised. The pain alone was nearly enough to cause me to pass out. They had abandoned me. Abandoned…

"_I've become so numb I can't feel you there. Become so tired, so much more aware I'm becoming_ this_. All I want to do is be more like _me _and be less like_ you."

I don't know how long I lay there, sobbing. Hours…days…

By the end of my sob fest, I had removed myself of all my bonds –including the ring- and retched myself dizzy on a nearby bush. I didn't know where I was or how long I had been unconscious. What was I to do until Palanthas? The troupe had been in the Sentinel Peaks, almost coming upon the coast.

I rubbed my sore limbs and my tearstained face. I had no more tears to cry. I had just released years' worth of pent crying in one day. I walked until I saw the coast, too exhausted and dispirited to fly. I had fallen, fallen hard.

"_Catch me as I fall, say you're here and it's all over now. Speaking to the atmosphere, no one's here and I fall into myself. This truth…drives me into…madness. I know I can stop the pain if I will it all away…if I will it all away…" _

I didn't know which plant was poisonous or friendly. I refused to eat that entire day, content with walking until something killed me or my strength gave out. I stared down at the ground, thinking, thinking a lot.

"_Don't turn away (Don't give in to the pain)! Don't try to hide (though they're screaming your name)! Don't close your eyes (God knows what lies behind them)! Don't turn out the light (never sleep, never die)! I'm frightened by what I see but somehow I know that there's much more to come. Immobilized by my fear, and soon to be blinded by tears, I know I can stop the pain if I will it all away…if I will it all away…"_

The day went by like a dream, a really bad dream with me stuck in it. I wandered toward the water in a daze, uncaring, deaf to all voices. I sat on the shore, staring at the capricious ocean swirl and foam around me. The chill liquid slapped me, cleaned me, and tended to the wounds. Several beings asked if I was okay, but left when I didn't answer.

"_Fallen angels at my feet, whispered voices at my ear, death before my eyes, lying next to me is fear. She beckons me. Shall I give in? Upon me end shall I begin forsaking all I've fallen for? I rise to meet the end. Don't turn away (Don't give in to the pain)! Don't try to hide (though they're screaming your name)! Don't close your eyes (God knows what lies behind them)! Don't turn out the light (never sleep, never die)! Servatis a pereculum…Servatis a maleficum…"_

* * *

"Wake up," ordered a voice that sounded like a thunderstorm. 

Why was it cold and wet? How had I managed to half bury myself into my pillows? What the hell was going on?

"Wake up human," commanded the same domineering voice, more annoyed. So the speaker wasn't human…

I lifted my head, cracking open my eyes. A large fiery red eye the size of my head reflected my worn face. Surrounding the red eye and slit (the pupil) was bronze. The voice was female. A very loud, bossy female. I shut my eyes and dropped my head back onto the wet sand, shivering. I felt so awful.

"Get up. You have explaining to do," the bronze dragon snorted, breathing a wreath of smoke around me. I coughed, crawling away from her on shaky limbs. I just wanted to go back to sleep. To sleep forever. "Look at your pathetic attempts, you sad being- wasting and trying to kill yourself! You have a lovely case of pneumonia," the dragon continued to scold.

My answer was a rattling cough. My head swam, my sinuses were producing overtime, my nose threatened to explode, and everything ached with chill yet my skin crawled with fever. I gave in to it and collapsed on the sand. Zeboim's waves washed over me and I shivered uncontrollably while huddling into a fetal position.

The female's voice quieted. A long gust of hot wind told me she had sighed. "I guess I must nurse you to health for my questions to be answered." The bronze dragon whispered a complex sleep spell and that was it for me.

* * *

"Ow." 

Something sharp was digging into my back. That 'something' happened to be rather annoying. My hand groped under my back for the pointy thing and enclosed around a solid object. I pulled it from under my back and, rubbed my eyes (surprised at how much crust there was), and saw a diamond.

I tossed it aside. What use had I for diamonds in this fragile state?

I felt more drained than I had before. I heard wheezing and realized it came from me, before erupting into a bout of hoarse hacking that caused me to jerk into an upright position. My lungs had filled with water and I spat out thick mucus to the side, almost choking on it.

An elephant-sized headache crashed down on my head when the coughing ceased. _Someone put me out of my misery!_ I wanted to scream.

"I can't do that until you answer my questions." _Ah, dragon lady._ _The one with the big mouth and loud voice. _

"That's me," the bronze dragon chuckled darkly. I opened my eyes to stare at a human with bronze skin, red almond-shaped eyes, imposingly long fingernails, and a pointed smile. _Whoa, now that's unnatural!_

"No kidding," she agreed, wearing bronze robes. "This small, puny form is unnatural, but I was forced to fit into it to nurse you to health." She knelt down beside me and held up a small silver chalice encrusted with precious gems to my lips. The stuff in it was the polar opposite of the beautiful cup and I choked the acrid liquid down, knowing it would help in some way.

"I am puzzled as to why you did not return to your dragon form but this makes it easier for me," the female shrugged. I had no clue what she was talking about.

"Huh?" I frowned, staring harder at her.

"I wondered if you were being foolish or brave for so blatantly flaunting your aura," she continued. "Especially on the territory of another bronze dragon. Perhaps you could have been a male looking to mate, but when I came to investigate, it turned out to be a human female with the blood of a bronze dragon running through her veins, albeit said human was wallowing in self-pity."

She was right but I didn't particularly give a hoot at the moment. My health came first, self-pity came second.

"Yeah?" I croaked in a raspy voice. "What about it?"

She leaned forward, inches from my face. I could faintly detect hints of brimstone, smoke, and sulfur in her breath, but was glad by nose was stuffed up. "You reek of griffon too."

"What about it?" I repeated defensively.

"What _are_ you?" she asked.

"I'm an unknown recombinant DNA life-form, a byproduct of science and magic gone wrong," I smiled weakly. It was noon and so my illness waned…at least until six o'clock.

"Very funny," the dragoness said humorlessly. "Who are you?"

"Ana. Who are you?"

"Farhannaitryx, the Bronze Beauty."

_Uhm…okay… _"Bronze Beauty?"

She blew a plume of foul breath on me. "Don't be impertinent."

"Is there a bathroom conveniently located near here?" I asked, sitting up. Apparently I had been kidnapped back to the 'Bronze Beauty's lair.

"No, but you may use that corner," she growled, pointing behind her. After conquering the dizziness when I stood, I staggered forward, unsure of my balance and coordination. It turned out my cushions I rested on were on top of a pile of shiny, pointy, and extremely valuable objects. I sighed irritably, deciding not to impale myself upon a scepter a few feet down.

My wings squirmed free of my damp clothing and I glided from the tower of wealth to said corner.

"Wait!" cried Farhannaitryx.

_Great, did I go to the wrong corner?_

"Why do you have _griffin_ wings?" she demanded, morphing into full dragon form. I gawked at her until one of her large Sauron-like eyes was fixed upon me.

"Uh…I told you I was a byproduct of science and magic gone wrong," I squeaked, shrinking under her glare.

"What do you mean?" Farhanblahblahtryx inquired.

I found myself telling her everything from the beginning, editing out my most personal thoughts, the fact I knew everything about _Dragonlance_ from the past to the future, or that I was more technologically advanced, and the irrelevant things- such as the first three things I mentioned. I shed a few tears and nearly blew up Farhanna's precious and ornate loot a few times (her magic stopped mine).

"That leads us to the here and now," I finished awkwardly, sitting back on my makeshift bed.

Farhanna was silent for an uncomfortable amount of time before she spoke up. "I must think about this. Sleep, Ana. You are completely drained from your story-telling."

She didn't need to tell me _that_ twice.

"Yes, ma'am," I yawned, nestling deeper into the cushions, closing my burning eyeballs.

* * *

"I have decided to assist you." 

"Say again?" I asked around a piece of well done (partially burnt) rabbit.

"Ludicrous as your tale is, you told me truth is stranger than fiction," the bronze dragon told me. "I will teach you the extents of your magic, train you in the skies, and other training you may require."

"Like the difference between trees? Or toxic plants and friendly plants?" I smiled, coughing slightly.

Farhanna nodded.

"Coolio." I accepted another cupful of the putrid-tasting medicine which the bronze dragon told me was herbs. I suspected more than herbs were added into the mix. "Ugh, this tastes like pool acid from my father's truck," I coughed after chugging the thick concoction. Oh yeah, my father was a pool man- the dude who keeps your pool clean and safe to jump into...Yay, I remembered something about my daddie!

"If it tastes nasty, it must work," the dragoness snickered.

"Maybe that goes for dragons to," I murmured on the chalice rim.

Unfortunately, Farhanna had the hearing of a bat, an ornery, crotchety bat. "What?" she hissed, snaking her head to see my expression.

"Dragons are so prideful because they think they're irresistible," I said, puffing out my chest like a dragon. "No wonder they can fly- they're full of hot air."

Farhanna was none too happy about the insult. "Humans are cocky because they think they need significance to their lives by doing something extremely stupid or dangerous. Yet they are nothing more than a wisp of smoke."

"If we're such 'wisps of smoke'," I began sarcastically, "why are we humans –the pigeons, the rats of races- thriving while other species dwindle?"

"Perhaps because humans are_ idiotic_ enough to try being superior by bringing more powerful beings under their command?" Farhanna suggested icily.

"Or maybe the more powerful beings are so _lazy_ and _arrogant_ that when they slept, humans developed a brain and surprised said superior beings by biting them in the ass?" I retorted, enjoying the verbal contest of wits.

Farhanna's head was enveloped in a curtain of gray smog and I assumed my victory, fully aware that the dragon would achieve victory in the field of training and I would pay dearly for my big mouth. And just so you know- I'm rarely wrong.

* * *

"Up, hatchling," boomed the voice of my scary taskmaster two weeks later. Two weeks of magical exercises that were infinitely more draining than any physical exercise anyone could dish out, two weeks of study on observing nature and learning to survive in the wild. Two weeks of mental torture. 

"Yes, scary taskmaster," I mock saluted as I jumped up and leapt from the pile of gold, gliding over to a patch of bare ground where my breakfast was cooking. I gobbled down the scrambled eggs and ran outside where Farhanna was tapping her claws impatiently.

"Show me your take off and what you have learned on your own," commanded the bronze dragon imperiously.

I began running and leapt from the ground, my wings straining to lift me off the ground. I swooped in a large, tight circle and skidded back to Krynn. Watching the bronze dragoness in human form for judgment, I shifted and fidgeted anxiously.

"Not bad, but we need to strengthen your muscles, _all_ of them," she said, emphasizing her point that I had now entered a pseudo-Abyss. "Flap your wings up and down slowly until I say to do so otherwise. Next you will flap them with quick, short strokes. Then we will practice tilting and inclining direction because the slightest shift of your feathers in the air is crucial."

I frowned. "But my wings will scrape against the ground."

Farhana gave a chilly smile that dipped me frigid in fear.

* * *

My arms and legs shook and ached from the strain of holding my body up for nearly an hour. A pig couldn't have sweated more than me at this point. I breathed harshly, my wings beating in quick, choppy strokes, further shaking me from the precarious precipice. 

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I was hovering over a Grand Canyon-deep pit between two sedimentary rock glaciers. Put two desks close to each other but leave a gap; now place a thin writing implement between the gaps to bridge it. I'm the writing implement and the 'desks' are immensely scarier when up to scale.

I paused, wings sagging, as I gasped harshly for a hot breath. Minor asthma problems usually didn't bother me, but I began to feel the sensation of slow suffocation creeping up on me. I inhaled sharply and stiffened as a piece of text from Maximum Ride: Saving the World and Other Extreme Sports came to mind. _"They can carry to four-fifths of their own body weight for periods of up to an hour." Does that only apply to flying or feminine weakness? _I wondered.

"Farhana, I can't keep this up much longer!" I shouted, feeling my strength beginning to bend like metal yielding to white-hot flame. "I can only keep this up for a little longer! My peaking point is four-fifths of my own body weight for an hour!"

"Alright, you may rest," the bronze dragon agreed.

"Erm, how do I…get myself out of this pickle?" I inquired uneasily, nearing collapsing point. I folded my fatigued wings, grateful for a break from the muscle workout.

Farhana's claws gently wrapped around my middle and carried me upward. I panicked at first, unused to flying with aide, but relaxed when she didn't drop me. "You still don't trust me, human?" I heard the slight amusement, annoyance...and something else, something subdued in her voice.

"I'm not a very trusting person," I answered honestly, flopping in her grasp all the while wondering if from below I resembled freshly decaying carrion. An unpleasant image of a pigeon with a broken neck in the clutches of a hungry hawk or falcon came to mind.

"You seem dead tired," Farhana commented, seemingly pleased with herself.

"Yeah. I'm gonna crash now," I agreed, nodding off as the wind dried the sticky sweat. And my world seemed to crash head-first into a comatose sleep.

* * *

_Even after seven hours of sleep I still feel bushwhacked. Ugh. _I sat up and found myself presented with dinner in bed, a mysterious treat that had popped out of thin air. The dinner consisted of fried fish, bread, an apple, and a cup of agua fría. How the water was cold was beyond me. I guessed –and hoped- it had come from an underwater mountain source because that meant the water was naturally clean. 

Despite my distrust and suspicions of poison, I was touched.

Farhana had actually been really nice to me. She let me stay in her home, loaded with treasure, trusting me not to take anything; she let me 'lean' on her and sleep, and now this elaborate meal. I stared at the food, having lost my appetite. The bronze dragon must've felt really horrible when I told her I didn't trust her.

_Yeah, way to go _genius, I scolded myself, feeling tears prick the edges of my eyes.

_Someone had been _nice_ to me. _

Ever since I had come to Krynn, I had been stabbed in the back and each time the wound healed before the knife slid back in. The draconians had stabbed me, Tas and Mendelv and Sebastius had soothed it, Jeppie and her posse had slid the dirk back in, and now Farhannaitryx was trying to mend it. I had heard for every bad deed done it takes ten good deeds to fully heal the bad one.

I was such a _bitch_.

First Jeppie, and now this.

I pushed the tray off my lap and cried. I cried because of my unknowing cruelty and the bronze dragon's kindness- just when I really needed it, the affection. Farhana's sardonic attitude was just a front to mask her true self. I scowled, resolving that I hated myself (not that I didn't already) for my obliviousness although it had kept me safe from corruption for years.

I sat there, blubbering, sulking, and festering, when said hostess happened upon me and my pathetic condition.

Lovely.

"What's wrong?" Farhana blurted out in astonishment, hurrying over. She was obviously surprised I –a cruel, distrusting, sarcastic, annoying, and oblivious creature- was sobbing my eyes out.

I didn't answer, but buried my face in her shoulder, telling her 'sorry' over and over mentally because I didn't have the voice to speak.

* * *

A/N: I don't own: Maximum Ride: Saving the World and Other Extreme Sports or the little quote, Astinus, the song _Memories_ by Within Temptation or _Whisper_ by Evanescence or _Numb_ by Linkin Park, or _Dragonlance_. 


	18. Hawkward

I was living with a dragon, a mythical creature that doesn't exist, in a world that doesn't exist. Maybe I was insane…

Or maybe I was one of the luckiest _Dragonlance_ fans chosen to teleport to Krynn, although others would have been more than willing to put up with all the crap and drama I had. Or would they have?

Who knows, but even though every Dragonlance fan was probably sharpening their weapons and googling my name for my return to Earth, I bet you one euro they weren't jealous of my dire, helpless situation, except the flying and wings.

_Note to self: remind self of goals to be accomplished._

_Hhm, that would be…going home in one piece, finding a method to go back to Earth, getting autographs of all the Heroes of the Lance and famous people associated with them (Yay! I have Caramon and Tika's already! Oh, and Tas's.)…what else?_

_Go to Palanthas. _

'Go to Palanthas.' It reminded me of the Wizard of Oz, the munchkins telling me to follow the yellow brick road, but my yellow brick road wasn't so visible, twisted through shadow, pain, dark emotions, winding occasionally through sunlight and happiness.

I went over my arsenal that awaited use in my pockets: my beloved iPod, pepper spray that I fully intended to use, my lighter, the Halloween cosmetics, booklet of Japanese (mostly curse words), my addictive-smelling Celestial Strawberry Lipsmacker lip gloss (seriously, go sniff some for yourself), the captive, deceased bronze dragon's scale which I shrunk again until further need, and a modern pen.

Another goal I had on my list, although near the bottom and not a priority: kill the occult of draconians with the aurak Thalliyn to prevent them from experimenting, mutating, and endangering the kender in Kendermore, Goodlund.

Although not remembering anything about my family freaked me out at first, I learned not to think about them. I would see them when I saw them, then remember 'oh yeah! You're so-and-so!' Until then I had to focus on the present and near future.

Speaking of the present, my magical outbursts were lessening as I gained control over the magic. Mua-ha-ha-haaaaa!

I glanced at my tattoo mark of the black lotus. Strangely, it had faded to dark gray and itched worse than a Texas-sized fire ant bite on top of a deer or horse fly bite. I caught my hand slinking toward my forearm and stopped myself. My forearm was already swollen almost twice its size.

"Hi-diddle-dee-dee, an actor's life for me. A high silk hat and a silver cane, a watch of gold with a diamond chain. Hi-diddle-dee-dey, an actor's life is gay. It's great to be a celebrity! An actor's life for me. Hi-diddle-dee-dum, an actor's life is fun," I serenaded again, missing Sebastius, Thronden, and the thespians who had made me comfortable in the troupe.

Yet another week had flown by from my breakdown and I was ready to leave. Farhana and I were back on old terms, but more sensitive. I reached out my mind for the Bronze Beauty's, meeting the normal shield.

_Hey, the fledgling wants to fly the coop_, I sent, emerging from the dragon's lair and taking off into the evening sky.

Our minds connected and dimly, my brain processed faint wisps of color behind my eyes. Dragon's auras came in colors, like red meant anger, grey meant neautral, unreadable, and that elementary symbolism.

"_Am I boring you?" _

_Just a bit, _I silently admitted, spotting the huge shadow of a dragon in the distance. I curbed my course, heading in her direction. _I miss the people I left behind. They told me to meet up with them somewhere. _Farhana had taught me the art of discretion, even mentally but I couldn't help it as the word 'Palanthas' glared in my mind.

"_I understand. Take a few trinkets I don't need before you leave," _Farhana thought, a bit carelessly if I might add.

My jaw popped open for a second and caught the wind, flapping, before I quickly shut it. _Well excuse _me_ for being human, but that doesn't make me your trash dispens-_

"_Sorry, my apologies. I meant no offense," _the dragon thought sheepishly, blues and greens dancing in my mind.

_I know, I was pulling your wings, _I grinned, flying in to her side. I flew above her, my shadow a small blot on her enormous back. My feathers brushed against her leathery wings occasionally and Farhana would complain how her wings itched and my accursed feathers tickled. I happily shut her out, grinning, as she resorted to verbal methods.

The golden (it was gold, not orange) sunset shone off Farhana's bronze scales, half blinding me while accentuating her beauty. I felt like the dirty mudblood experiment I was as I jealously admired her.

"Degrading yourself again?"

"Yeah," I answered glumly. "I'm green with envy at your beauty and grace. It makes me feel like a mistake."

"Don't say that," the dragon snorted, "Everything has its own beauty. Stop punching yourself for things others have that you don't."

"I know everything has its own beauty, but I still feel outshone," I scowled. "It makes me want to tear off my feathers and pluck every hair I can find on my body."

"Let's go back to the cave and I'll show you something," Farhana said, swooping down gracefully.

I sighed as we descended from the seventeen thousand foot altitude. The lower we went, the warmer the air until a certain point. The setting sun was cooling the air rapidly and visibility was lowering as well. I was a bird, not a bat.

_I'm glad I'm birdlike. It makes me sorry for my overgrown bat-sensei._

"_I am not a bat!"_

_Says you, _I snickered as we landed. She chased me into the cave, me screaming, Farhana growling. She scooped me into one of her claws effortlessly, sitting on her scaly hindquarters, while her other claw dug in a large pile of valuable gewgaws.

I stopped my annoying wailing to watch as the dragoness picked up a slender mirror delicately between two claws. She nearly jammed it up my nose until I took it away from her to prevent the mirror from exploring the innermost caverns of my nostril.

"Stare into it for a while," she advised as I gave her a puzzled look.

I squinted into the reflective surface, my reflection's face screwed up in concentration. I blinked when I saw my smooth face, lustrous auburn hair, sparkling eyes, and every detail as perfect, topped with a dim glowing aura. My perfect reflection gawked at the imperfect creature staring in equal astonishment at it.

"Fornication under the king," I cursed softly, "No _way_."

"That mirror shows your soul," Farhana explained. "Your soul isn't as ugly as I suspected." –I shot her a sour glare which she ignored- "Does this make you feel better?"

"Um, awkward, but I guess so," I replied, unsure of my emotions at the moment.

"You may have it," the Bronze Beauty told me, setting me in the middle of her treasury. "Take what you can carry."

A wicked grin slipped onto my face. "You might regret that offer."

* * *

"Hi-diddle-dee-dee, an actor's life for me. A wax mustache and a beaver coat, a pony cart and a billy goat. Hi-diddle-dee-dum, an actor's life is fun. You wear your hair in a pompadour, you ride around in a coach and four, you stop and buy out a candy store- an actor's life for me!" I sang in the air to no one in particular. 

My shoulders threatened to pop from my sockets as I flew only one hundred feet from the ground with the backpack straps smartly rubbing my sweaty palms. I didn't need to worry about being seen because I was going super-duper slow and I was soaring over The New Sea.

I huffed and puffed as I lifted up my knee and let the backpack rest by the strap on my knee. I gasped, wiping my forehead with the back of my palm. I charmed the backpack into being very light although it was _still_ heavy.

I managed to land in a forest in Solamnia without crash landing. I settled in a tree, placing the backpack of dead weight onto my stomach, promptly falling asleep. Flying around with dead weight made one dead tired.

The next day I was bored and used the Halloween cosmetics my friend gave me while hovering over a pond, grinning. After the facial makeover, I studied and reviewed the spells Master Benshi and Farhana had taught me. I bunched up my hair in a tight ponytail with my scrunchies. Being close to Solanthus (almost unseeable at night), I took off invisibly with a jinxed-to-be-light backpack while listening to my iPod.

* * *

A figure sleeping on a hillside near Palanthas was disturbed by a gentle yet persistent nudging. The figure –a dragon highlord- sat up, rubbing drowsy brown eyes. "What is it?" she growled at her larger companion, who stared down at her with fiery eyes. 

The blue dragon's head snaked in the direction of a dot in the sky, a dot with a large and presumably heavy package from the looks of it. The highlord frowned and stood, squinting. "A griffin, no…it has a human body…" she murmured, running her hand through thick black curls. "A kyrie, Skie?"

Skie, eyeing Kitiara, turned his head back in the direction of the unidentified flying object as if to say "let's go find out, shall we?"

Kitiara had her things packed quickly and was strapping Skie's saddle all while watching the figure approach Palanthas, the most beautiful city since the sunken Istar. "I wonder why its flying pattern is so peculiar…"

* * *

"Slide to the left…take it back now ya'll…One hop this time…one hop this time," I murmured, following the directions of DJ Casper's voice. I glided to the left, then substituted 'back' for 'folding in wings and dropping twenty feet before opening wings', and replacing 'hops' with barrel rolls. 

"Charl-Hey!" The music stopped suddenly and I scowled at the musical device, flipping it over to see red flashing for the battery. Plucking the ear pieces from my ears and pocketing the iPod, I grumbled about the interruption and hovered in the air. I glanced at the city before taking a good look at the air around me for other bird life.

Hello.

A shadow on the horizon.

An awfully familiar shadow that I recognized right away.

I squeaked, "Dragon!" in a terrified, excited manner as my breath caught in my throat. It wouldn't matter if I cast the invisibility spell or any spell to hide me; a dragon's eyes could pierce any spell and find all hidden things with a mere glance. That left two options: running or hiding. No, fighting was _not _an option because I did _not_ have the power or skill or experience to face a _dragon._

I pumped my wings, hyperventilating with excitement and fear, and tightened my hands on the straps of the one-ton backpack. "Eep!" I squeaked as I saw the dragon approaching. My raptor vision picked up a rider and the blue shimmering off the scales. The rider wore similar blue armor and a gruesome helmet.

Aiming my wings down, I lost altitude quickly and made a desperate aim for the city but the dragon was more experienced in the art of flight. I was _so_ _close_ to the city and yet so _far._ I panted as I suddenly maneuvered to the right, circled around, and flew with the city facing my right side. The beautiful Roman/Greek-like city watched the spectacle from my right.

I heard a faint voice from the dragon rider, the words snatched by the wind. Guardsmen on the battlements shouted and shot arrows –the idiots- at both me and the dragon. Taking a risk to my life (as if I wasn't already), I flew up as fast as I could force myself. Soaring over the guardsmen with a fancy twist that exposed my back, I managed to pass Palanthas's defenses- almost.

The enchantment wore off the backpack as I passed over the wall. The sudden weight caused me to scream "ACK" in surprise as I careened downward toward bare ground, the wind screaming in my ears. I accidentally dropped my backpack in order to right myself.

I spun upward, catching myself as the guards and archers gaped at me. Out of arrow range, the blue dragon with the rider sitting atop stared at me too, but not in amazement. I cast the camouflage spell and dropped downward to fetch my valuables from Farhana before they were taken.

Tucking in my wings, I used a similar spell to the camouflage to hide my backpack as I picked it up with a quiet grunt. I dropped it as it made metallic clinking spells, alerting the ground guards who were shouting, "Over here! I heard something!" I cast a mute spell over the backpack and prepared to face the guards, high on adrenaline and the after tastes of fear.

"_Tanda kendala_!"

* * *

AN: We all know I don't own the 'Actor's Life For Me' song, the spell above, Dragonlance, Rome, Greece, the _Cha Cha Slide_ by DJ Casper, iPod, the Wizard of Oz, Kitiara or Skie 


	19. Holy Hell

**_Rated T for swearing mostly, and most of it is in this chapter near the bottom. Beware. You have been warned. _**

* * *

I charged through the swirling mist as blindly as the sentinels of Palanthas bumbling behind me. Nearly running into a tree, I hotly cursed the curse of the Magi, the curse being that a mage had to study _every freaking_ **day **and that, once a spell was performed, it had to be _studied again_ to be performed again. That meant no spell to lighten the ton of treasure I was hauling away while fleeing from idiots with metal sticks and practice at wielding said metal sticks. I bet one of them wanted to jam one of those sticks up my ass. 

Another effect of the curse was each spell cast sapped the caster's strength (physically, although I didn't know the particulars) until the caster was too exhausted to cast, forced to rest. Oh well. I was innocent enough.

It wouldn't be the first time someone hated me for something I didn't do.

Long story, not enough breathe to tell.

I tripped sideways over a mist-covered log and landed in a nifty mini river or pond on my back. The backpack of heaviness, combined with the forces of gravity, cushioned on my chest and caused my ribs extreme pain. I made a loud "OOMP!" sound, not one to verbally express my discomfort unless it was _really_ bad. Or something weighty rested on my chest.

I gasped quite literally for breathe, rolling over so the backpack wouldn't crush the life from me before sitting up and listening for the guards. They were close. Too close for comfort.

The magical mist had definitely confused them, but hadn't done more than that. Now they were beginning to get organized- a bad sign for me. The sentries were coming in pairs, whistling as signals. Heart incased in fear, I got up and leaned down to pick up the backpack.

Was it really worth my life?

I could leave it and the city would benefit or I could keep it and donate it to the Players of Gilean.

Either option was a bonus, but the lookouts had tagged me as a UFO, which _must_ mean I was an enemy.

That was sarcasm if the point flew over your head.

_Oh hell_, I decided as I lifted it and began creeping away as quietly as a half-sodden person can, _Farhana's treasure is worth it! I can't let those lunatics have her mirror which would fall into the hands of Raistlin and Dalamar. I'd never get it back. _

I'm not avaricious, just a stupid teenage kid who needs to learn the value between her life and the happiness of others and the huge difference between reality and dreams.

Other people's happiness was super important to me (the exception being if I loved to annoy the hell out of them), and if they were happy, so was I. That's why I loved giving gifts.

I didn't like receiving gifts because it made me feel…unworthy of it, I didn't deserve it…and the fear that it was something I wouldn't like; and, in a case as that, I would take pity on the present and keep it to make them happy because I didn't want the other person to feel bad. It was torture for my heart even if the giver hadn't intended it.

I know feeling guilty about getting presents sounds insane, but I'm me and couldn't give a bad word for what anyone else thought of how I felt, function, eat, dress, or speak. If they didn't understand, boo hoo.

Anyway, I was making excellent distance between myself and the pursuers. I was a fast runner not that joining the track team had anything to with it…okay, so it did, but I love running! It was one of the closest things to flying –the other being swinging- without leaving the ground.

Even though my blood was burning from lack of oxygen, my legs were still rubbery from flight, and I had no idea where I was headed, I enjoyed the thrilling sensation running offered. Regrettably, flying was more satisfying.

I exited what I assumed to be an in-city park, stumbling into the city itself.

The beauty of Palanthas was like going back in time and gawking at the Romans and Greeks and the things their magnificent minds had wrought. Except not everybody was sporting a toga.

Some people stared at me when I had first burst from the wilderness, but half of those had already left to continue their lives. I recognized the uncaring 'whatever' attitude New York possessed from a field trip with my super-special-awesome grandpa. These were people who thought they had 'seen it all.' That was a no-brainer judging from the variety of races that walked the streets: elves, dwarves, a majority of humans, a few minotaurs here and there, and every race in between. I saw more fantasy creatures in fifteen seconds than I had in all my travels on Krynn.

So this was the 'New York' back in the day…where all the whackos went.

I would blend perfectly.

_Hhm, I'm in Palanthas. Now what? _An excellent question I pondered as I began power-walking into the crowd to blend as I heard male voices with my avian hearing. I blended with the people of Palanthas grinning like a fool as I admired the architecture. Yes, I love the Arts: music, writing, drawing, and, of course, art.

I kept my backpack hugged to my chest tightly out of paranoia of thieves and wonder at the erected marble beauties everywhere. I probably looked like a homeless kid who had walked into a candy store and had been told the candy store was mine. The emotions all collided and scrapped against one another in my chest: awe, wonder, excitement, fear of street scum, wondering how I was going to get myself unlost…

_Sebastius said, "Remember Palanthas"…what were we talking about beforehand? That might be a clue. _

Not noted for my memory, I walked into a random shop to sort my thoughts and try to think a few weeks back. My bottom lip slid behind my teeth as I sucked it further into my mouth with frustration. I remembered current events better than memories unless something was deathly important to remember or the memory was triggered by conversation.

"May I help you?"

My head automatically swiveled in the direction of the female voice. I found myself staring at a beautiful, could-be-a-model red robe over a shelf. Her eyes were large and enviously pretty. Fingers adorned with rings held jars of components- bat guano and newt eyes. She had black hair fair as Pocahontas's and her skin was smooth and perfect as an anime character's. There was only one female who wore red robes that was gifted by the gods with such beauty.

"Are you Mistress Jenna?" I asked curiously.

"I am," she answered.

A bright smile lit my face. "Hi Mistress Jenna," I greeted in a chirpy voice, glad I'd wandered into her store. I thanked the influence of time spent with kender that had worked its Wanderlust magic on my feet.

"Do I know you?" She seemed confused, even wary.

I shook my head, defenses going up. The shyness around strangers was kicking in. Even if a stranger became my friend, they had to pass my annoying stage which is where most potential friends were rooted out because they were turned off by my random, bothersome behavior. The ones who put up with me were more valued in my sight and possessed patience…or they were really slick, but that usually wasn't the case.

"Are you looking for something?" A black eyebrow arched.

"No ma'am," I answered shortly. I kept my thoughts –in the case she was scrying my mind- on kender and how long it had been since I had interacted with one, including how much I missed their company. I thought of the kender who had befriended me when I joined the Players which lead to thinking about Sebastius inquiring about my dissatisfaction about his actors. That thought lead to funny times with the troupe leader, then the embarrassing moments, next the ironic ones, and finally the serious memories with him.

_Astinus!_

I had been standing in the middle of Mistress Jenna's store with day-dreamy eyes and a blank face until the epiphany hit me like a bus. When I remembered, I blinked, started, and gazed at the wall in amazement.

Sebastius and I had been talking about his brother, the famous librarian, which would lead one to assume Sebastius would be visiting Astinus.

"Is something wrong, child?" Mistress Jenna inquired. I knew she had been watching me closely, but watching me never did any good. With strangers my face was blank, curious, alarmed, or any combination of the three.

"I just remembered I have to be somewhere," I said quickly, turning around to dash out of the store, but I paused and turned around. "Can I have your autograph?"

* * *

I stood before the Great Library having followed the directions Mistress Jenna dryly told me as she added her name in my Japanese booklet beside Tasslehoff's. Setting down my backpack, I screamed in my mouth and hopped up and down several times before I was calm enough to knock on the door. I knocked softly; the excitement had already been replaced by nervousness. 

No one came.

I sighed. I had issues when it came to courage because of low self-esteem issues (Why do you think I wear a baggy jacket all the time? I don't want guys checking out my packages! Or people to see my baggy shirt.) I knocked again but harder. As I sucked on my sore, chilled knuckles, I hoped someone had heard. Jeez, I was so nervous I was shivering.

The door opened wide enough to reveal an eye peering down at me fearfully. The person behind the door was obviously paranoid and fearful of life. "What do you want?" the owner of the eye asked in a masculine voice.

Why did I feel like this was a private club that I had to say a password to get into? "Um, I'm here to see Astinus," I replied and then realized my mistake. I shook my head, flustered. "No! Grrrr. I meant Sebastius." _Dammit!_

"Sebastius is not here." The door closed in my face.

I had never had anyone close a door in my face so coldly. It was surprising, but I was too perplexed to care. Where was Sebastius? It was like playing a temper-inducing, real life version of Where Is Waldo?

But instead, Waldo found me.

The doors to the Great Library flew open to reveal none other than the Pillsbury Doughboy himself. If I had been surprised by the cold shoulder, I was doubly astonished to see my Master with his arms held wide and a broad smile at seeing me. _Me_.

I was so traumatized by shock Sebastius caught me up in his arms and was squeezing me in two when I snapped out of it. I began making faint choking-wheezing sounds to let my Master know that I was turning blue from lack of breath. When he set me down, I hugged him…or tried to. My arms didn't quite make it all the way around.

"Ugh. Can't Reach," I complained with a smile and Sebastius chuckled, ruffling my hair.

Behind us, Astinus –a skinny version of Sebastius- was scolding Betrem for keeping me outside in the cold. I shivered. Fluffy pewter clouds blanketed the sky, whisked along by a frigid, low pressure cold front. I could feel the chill especially on the wet-half of me. As I stared up at the sky, I predicted, "It's going to rain."

"Wrong, it is going to snow," Astinus corrected me. I noticed the steam floating from Sebastius's and my mouths as we breathed. It was getting cold so quickly! "In fact, winter will indulge us with a grand dramatic entrance."

"A blizzard," I nodded, picking up my obese backpack. Astinus's head gave a slight dip as he regarded me with furrowed brows.

"Come inside," Sebastius's brother invited, "Time is short and I cannot be kept away from my chronicling long. So much important history is passing without being recorded. Come in, come in. We can't warm the outside air."

It was warmer inside and I shivered at the temperature change, clutching my backpack closer as I dug my trembling nails into it. I was quaking with cold. Astinus looked me up and down coolly. "Bertrem, fetch the young lady clothing and clean the attire she wears. Keep an eye on her backpack while she showers."

The fearful, distrustful assistant of Astinus shuffled over with a red face. I handed the backpack and Bertrem nearly fell over. "Is it packed with boulders?" he gasped, tittering back and forth.

"No, it is packed with gold, gems, and a mirror that will show both sides of the soul," Astinus corrected. I blinked, amazed he knew before remembering he was the god Gilean in human form. "Please place it in our safe until she needs it."

I bit my lip as I glanced from Astinus to the backpack, a silent question unwilling to pass my lips. The librarian knew the aching question I was too shy to ask. "Bertrem, wait," he ordered and strode up to his top assistant. Sebastius's brother took out my Japanese booklet and pen, flipped it open to the page beside Tika and Caramon's, before penning his name. I smiled even as Astinus fingered the modern pen with something akin to admiration before placing it back into my backpack.

The Chronicler turned back to us. "My brother, it has been nice too see you again but I am afraid I cannot be kept any longer. Please stay until things improve." I frowned. Did he mean the weather?

Astinus sent me a deliberate glance before it flickered back to his brother. Out of the corner of my eye, Sebastius nodded slightly and I felt as though I was the topic of an unspoken conversation. Astinus blinked coolly before leaving.

I cocked my head. "What was that all about?"

"A new, mysterious star has appeared on stage," Sebastius responded cryptically.

"There's a new member of the troupe?"

He dodged my question. "Enough questions. You will catch your death in these wet garments. Go shower, rest, and recuperate. I will still be here." With an encouraging push, he smiled gently. I wanted to believe him, but my distrusting nature wouldn't permit it. I was afraid, afraid he wouldn't be there.

Bertrem returned and was standing by a corridor. Sebastius, seeing my frown, the fear in my eyes, gave my cheek a quick and chaste kiss and whispered, "Trust me."

That was the most difficult thing for me to do. "I'll try," I whispered, going over to Bertrem distrustfully. I didn't want to be separated from Sebastius yet. Ever had a good friend come out to see you and you just meet them, and one moment you're reacquainting and the next they have to leave? I swallowed the dry lump in my throat and followed Bertrem silently.

* * *

I soaked in the hot water, purring with happiness. It had been _so_ incredibly_ long_ since I'd taken a bath as refreshing as this. I missed the warmth, the weightless feel of liquid that bears weight equally compared to air, the harsh scolding of a bristly cloth scrubbing away the filth, and scratching my scalp with shampoo to rid it of things that hid in my hair. 

It was bliss especially after falling in the puddle.

I nestled the water furiously with my face, eyes squeezed shut. The only things I loved other than the Arts were: warmth, water, air, speed, and blankets.

Water and air were similar mediums; the exception being liquid was more of a cushion than the capricious wind. Speed- the reason I loved running- said capricious wind running its fingers through my hair while biting my eyes, speaking words of murder and love in one voice. Blankets were flexible: they could be used as weapons to smother to death, weapons to capture, folded into pillows, and more. All provided warmth under certain circumstances.

One might say my love was conditional, frivolous, buyable.

But that 'one' was wrong.

That 'one' never saw my scars, the scars that made me who I was today.

The scars of many stab marks on my heart.

* * *

Bertrem compared me to a dragon after seeing how much I could consume although I hadn't eaten enough. I didn't have the heart. The atmosphere felt…hostile. I retired to my chambers early to stare out through the window even though there was nothing to see. What did this weather portend? 

I leaned my forehead against the pane, frowning, trying to see but the snow blotted everything.

A hand rested on my shoulder.

I swear I jumped three feet in the air as I whirled around and nearly tripped. Sebastius stood behind me. "You need to _warn_ people you're going to give them a heart attack," I sighed shakily, giving a visible shudder. "Jeez, Sebastius, what would happen if you scared me half to death twice?"

The troupe leader gave a small smile. "Humorous as ever. My brother wishes that I stay here. Therefore, I need you to deliver this letter to Thronden. You may read it if you wish. It concerns the Player's next performance. You will find the troupe performing nearby the Church."

My lips twitched upward as I looked to the side with an awkward expression. "Uhmmmm….."

"The biggest and most beautiful building in Palanthas," he hinted.

I scowled. "Gee that really narrows it down."

"You can't miss it," chuckled Sebastius.

"The Tower is beautiful too," I shrugged, "with twisted beauty." To me, the Tower of High Sorcery in Palanthas represented the human mind- twisted, vengeful, hurt, blocked off, angry, and evil. But, compared to Palanthas which represented the human heart when in love, the Tower served as a reminder that darkness would be ever-present in life. Symbolism aside, I thought the Tower was frickin' awesome.

"And dangerous," my Master added.

I stuck my tongue at him maturely. "And why can't it be both?"

"It is both."

"So you want me to go to the Tower?" I asked, looking up at him innocently, batting my eyelashes while implying that the Palanthas Tower of High Sorcery was the most beautiful building in all of Palanthas.

Sebastius's rich, deep laughter filled the room.

* * *

"Remember to go to the _Church_," Sebastius said, heavily emphasizing the holy building. 

"Sebastius," I said, not wanting to leave him. For some reason I felt that Sebastius needed my support, that he was hurting.

He leaned down to see my face. I mean, he's a tall guy, even to me, the walking stick-kid. "Yes?"

"I'm worried about you." There. I had said it. The thing that had been bothering me.

"I'll be alright, Ana," Sebastius assured me with a pinch to my cheek. "Now smile for me and get going. Our next patron is a very cordial man."

If you're wondering, I hadn't read the letter when Sebastius had left. I had totally forgotten about it and went to sleep. Out of sight, out of mind. I still wasn't keen on opening the letter because of my concern for my Master. It was for Thronden. Reading the contents would have been disrespectful and low.

I trudged in slushy, dirty mush that wasn't considered snow or rain. It was a half breed of the two. The slush was despised by disappointed children who wanted to build snowmen, throw snowballs, and have wars in the snow. The slush was disliked for being clingy, wet, half-frozen, and known to soak through clothing quicker than either of its pureblood parents.

Half breeds of live races were treated with the same contempt as slush, fitting in neither category. To the purebloods, half breeds were no better than slaves.

My foul mood at having to wake up early and then play messenger girl was making me philosophical. I rolled my eyes, wrapping my numbing digits around one of the mace canisters for my protection. It was strange walking around without my backpack, the comforting heaviness, or the assuring straps digging into my shoulders.

I felt…_unbalanced_.

I barely glimpsed at the building around me because I was on a reconnaissance mission: find the oh-so-holy Church where the troupe was reporting so I could deliver una letra to Thronden. I paused before a super-large and extraordinarily beautiful, tranquil white marble structure. I gave it a mental examination.

_Large: check. Beautiful: who could disagree? Check. Swarming with people in white robes: creepy, check. Calm, benevolent atmosphere: check. Uncomfortable feeling when on premises: ow, check. Well, holy hell this is the place. _

I chuckled at the joke for myself; hell was hardly holy. One tinsy little problem: no troupe. Oh, the colorful wagons were parked on the grass in a semicircle but no thespians. _They must be inside_, I decided as my stomach growled, _and the clerics must've invited them for lunch._

Ascending the steps, I felt Paladine frowning upon me. I don't know. It was torture. Part of me –the bronze dragon's blood- was pleased yet the black magic that bound the griffon's blood burned hotly. The effect was stomach-turning. My body felt racked with illness. What a living nightmare.

Choking down bile, I stubbornly staggered up the steps just waiting for Paladine to smite me or flick me from the blessed grounds. I made it up the stairs and propped myself against an arabesque white pillar. Paladine definitely was _not_ holding back. I voted on puking my vengeance on the first cleric who impeded me.

My prayer was answered, or more like, vengeance would be.

Approaching me was a stern, uptight beefy cleric swathed in colorless robes with an overextended belly much like Sebastius's. Judging by his red-face, this cleric either had a pineapple jammed in the wee crevices of his ass or he wasn't happy to see me.

"Mages are not allowed on the blessed ground of Paladine," he growled at me.

I was too tired, too ill to put up with this shit. Tired Ana meant bitchy Ana with a foulmouthed mind, so did hunger and being ill. "I _need_ to see one of the Players of Gilean."

"Why do you _need_ to?" The jackass was mocking me. He would pay. "I can deliver it to them."

_So they are here! _"I was told specifically by Sebastius to deliver the…missive to Thronden," I said, pausing to clear my throat. Each second spent on these accursed grounds made me weaker and sicker. _Move!_ I mentally screamed at the obese obelisk in white.

"You are a mage and forbidden on these grounds," he repeated contemptuously, having no pity for my affliction.

"Yes, I get that. I'm in no mood for your buffoonery, so please step aside," I scowled. Even if my magic was sapped, there was always the superhuman strength being part avian and dragon granted me. Sometimes being a mutant had its perks.

His chest swelled as the color in his face deepened to a beautiful shade of plum. "Wh-why you insolent-!"

"What is going on here?"

A female –crisp and polished- came up to us, also a cleric. From her tone alone I could tell she felt she was the boss of everything, able to handle any and every problem that the world threw at her. This female was used to order, being obeyed, discipline, and keeping cool. She wouldn't stay cool for long around stubborn ol' me.

Said female first glanced at her enraged, purple-faced comrade. How typically prejudiced. He exploded, his voice booming through the barely populated corridor as spittle flew from his mouth and he jabbed his finger at me accusingly. I kept a slightly irritated face, wanting to do nothing more than crumple into a ball of misery and get rid of the anti-magic vibes.

"Brother Michael, please calm down," she soothed the beast.

"Sister Joanne!" he began to protest but was stopped by a hand gesture. No, it was not a rude hand gesture you fricked up people! Just a simple holding up of the hand as if to say with one hand 'don't shoot'.

Sister Joan of Arc was ignoring him, gazing at me expectantly. "Is what he said true?"

"Somewhat exaggerated, but I need to see Thronden," I said urgently, the need to empty the contents of my stomach getting harder to ignore. "_Please_." My breathing was getting shallow. Were they _trying_ to kill me?

Sister Jo of Anne was silent as Brother Michael continued to glare vehemently at me. That man hated my guts with a passion. The stress of waiting got to him and he had a relapse of temper. "Sister Joanne! What are you waiting for? Toss this scum out!" he ranted.

Scum? Now I was pissed. Sickness forgotten, I straightened and my patience toward Brother 'Michelle' snapped. "Scum?" I mocked a bitter-sounding laugh. "Is that what you call everyone who walks in here? What kind of screwed up church is this? Frickin' desperate people with nowhere else to turn are coming to you and what do you do? Like every other hypocrite religious, self-righteous cleric with something jammed up his ass, you turn them away! It's no wonder the gods aren't being welcomed! Their priests are assholes!

"_Why, _I ask you, should the people come to you, you who spurn them in their desperation? _You_ should be going to _them_! The only way to earn something is to work for it, not just sit and count your money. Not all people can pay your ridiculously high sums or travel here on their own. Ever consider the cripples? The homeless? The strippers? The 'scum' are the people who _really_ need Paladine, not the bastards who fill your coffers," I finished yelling at the top of my voice with my head tilted toward the ceiling. Being a quiet person, when I shouted, _everyone_ heard.

Now that I had made myself heard and attracted the attention of all within hearing distance, I was sheepish but I was still ticked that what had spilled from my heart to my mouth was true.

"A valid point, Brother Michael," said an old man who was approaching us.

Well at least _somebody_ agreed with me.

Uh oh.

The old man was dressed more eloquently than Sister Joanne and Brother Michelle together meaning he was up there in the cleric hierarchy. He was intelligent enough to speak like poetry in motion and arrest attention. But he was also grasping the last straws of his life. Yes, he was that old.

"Reverend Elistan!" gasped the lower class clerics, bowing.

My face brightened and I said happily, "Hola, Elistan-sama! Nice to meet you."

"Do not address the Reverend so casually!" Michael barked. Elistan calmed him down while I frowned despairingly at the short tempered cleric.

"The suffix –sama refers to one of higher rank than yourself," I told him dryly, rolling my eyes while gritting my teeth against weakness. "It is _not _casual, it is respectful." Three clerics, one of them practically embodied with Paladine's spirit. Someone put this bird kid of her misery.

"Peace, Brother Michael. I believe I can handle this," _Reverend_ Elistan said quietly. Michelle looked like he was about to protest but swallowed it and left. Sister Joanna had mysteriously left too.

"I couldn't help but overhear your conversation with Brother Michael," Elistan smiled as I blushed, staring at his shoulder in embarrassment. "You are wise beyond your years and skilled with your tongue."

"So many say," I responded shyly to the compliment, voice nearly a whisper. _Oh ew! Did he say 'skilled with your tongue'?! Sick! Must. Get. Mind. Out. Of. Gutter!_

Staring at the squeaky-clean floor, I heard him chuckle before it turned into a cough which was quickly stifled. My head shot up as I heard the bark-iness of the cough. Elistan was coughing into a white handkerchief which had blood spattered on it.

I grimaced with understanding sympathy at the seal-like barking. "That sounds deep."

"There is nothing I can do about it," the Revered rasped, clearing his throat.

"Tea and mints cure illness," I suggested with a friendly smile. "Everything else can be solved with rope, chocolate, or by running it over."

Elistan laughed and my smile widened with pleasure from the positive reaction. "I reckon I would not want you as my enemy," he sighed after the bout of merriment. "Why are you subjecting yourself to the pain magic users experience on these blessed grounds?"

I was all business-like again, no smiles. "Dispatch, sir."

He seemed impressed. "For whom?"

"Thronden of the Players of Gilean," I answered promptly like a soldier.

"I understand you are to deliver this message personally?" Elistan drilled. His blue eyes were difficult _not_ to stare at. It reminded me of the cheesy pick-up line: "Do you have a map 'cause I'm lost in your eyes."

I nodded.

"I was interrupted from the banquet we held for them by the ruckus out here," he smiled. Again, I felt sheepish. How many times in one day could I make a fool of myself? Don't answer that. "They should be exiting."

"Thank you," I said politely before adding under my breath, "_Thank Paladine_," as I ran toward the exit of the Holy Hell.

* * *

I flopped onto the welcoming neutral zone outside of the Church borders, feeling much better. I was so happy to be out of there I was smiling ear to ear. Although I was weak, I could get energy _back_ instead of becoming more and more drained. 

"Ana!"

I sat up. The voice belonged to Shaunacy, one of the conspirators who had left me bound and gagged to die.

"I just keep showing up like a bad penny," I greeted her, striding toward her. My fake smile and staged cheeriness hid my singing rage.

Fortunately, Thronden intercepted before a cat fight could break out. "Ana, one of the clerics said you had something for me?"

I handed him the bloody letter that had caused me so much trouble.

He popped the seal, slid a slip of paper out, and began reading. I frowned as he paled considerably and the hand holding the letter began shaking. Glancing at me, he said, "You haven't read this have you? I can tell by your face." Thronden handed the letter to me.

My eyes scanned it:

_Sebastius,_

_I am requesting a Yule performance within four days of your last act. Please write a response of denial or acceptance. If you should choose to accept, wait at the closed gates of the Palanthas Tower of High Sorcery at eleven. _

_Master of the Tower_

I squealed, "Oh my gods!" It was one of the rare occasions that I was so excited I swore on a god, something I tried to avoid. Inwardly, I jumped for joy, screaming with fangirlish glee that I was going to meet my favorite sly Dragonlance character and possibly get his autograph.

"We're going," I squeaked, clutching the edges of the letter tightly.

"No we are _not_," Thronden scowled.

"Try and stop me," I said, pressing the paper on my knee, whipping out my pen (I brought my Japanese booklet and pen just in case) and scribbled in big letters across the entire sheet: "**HELL**** YES**!" The missive folded automatically into the envelope and vanished in a poof of smoke. Thronden was horrified.

"Do you know what the fucking _hell_ you just did?" he hissed lividly, grasping my shoulders. He was mad. Scratch that. He was pissed.

I only smiled happily. I didn't care if the troupe hated me. It didn't compare to my determination to meet Raistlin. _The_ Raistlin Majere, the Master of the Palanthas Tower of High Sorcery, Hero of the Lance, most powerful wizard in the history of Krynn!

I jumped back from Thronden and began hopping up and down with my hands in the air, cheering, "Woooooooohooooooooooooo!"

The second in command ran a hand through his long hair with an annoyed sigh as he glared at me.

"We're off to see the Wizard! The Wonderful Wizard of Oz because, because, because, because of the wonderful things he does! We're off to see the Wizard, the Wonderful Wizard of Oz," I sang loudly, skipping to the wagons a safe distance from Thronden.

* * *

AN: How is that for a chapter? Thank you, thank you, you're too kind. Yes, I know I'm wonderful. Just kidding. 

Disclaimer: don't own: Palanthas, the curse of the Magi, the mist spell, the Romans, Greeks, New York, Astinus or his cold behaviour, the lovely Mistress Jenna, Bertrem, Where is Waldo?, the Pillsbury Doughboy, the Holy Church, Palanthas Tower of High Sorcery (I wish), Elistan, "everything else can be solved with duct tape, chocolate, or by running it over", the cheesy pick-up line, Raistlin (I really wish I owned him or at least created him. Darn you Margaret Weis!), or the song 'We're Off to See the Wizard'.


	20. Daddio and Snape

The troupe didn't know where we were going. When they asked, Thronden sighed and I burst into song, serenading 'We're Off to See the Wizard'. None of them could guess that the wizard we were off to see was a famously infamous archmage named Raistlin Majere. If the Players of Gilean had known, who knew what their reaction might be?

Some would dig in their heels and refuse to budge; others would freak; a few might quit then and there, but I knew I would be the only one ecstatic about going to the Palanthas Tower of High Sorcery.

But _seriously_, one would think that at least _one_ member in the Players of Gilean would have enough of a brain to figure out that there was one 'Wizard of Oz' smack dab in the middle of Palanthas. And the lair of the Wonderful Wizard of Oz was marked by a large, imposing, spindly, ebony tower- the only black structure in the pearly Roman/Greek oasis.

It wasn't _my_ fault these people hadn't seen the Wizard of Oz.

"Stop," groaned the dwarf Tyrell. "My ears are bleeding."

I smiled and laughed, respecting his request.

"Where we go?" piped up Glip, a gully dwarf.

I switched to over to Dora the Explorer for help. "Where are we going?" I sung, clapping my hands four times. "To-" I mouthed a word. "Where are we going?" Clap, clap, clap, clap. "To-" I mouthed the word again, seeing members attempting to read my lips.

"Heaven?" snorted Harold, a professional lip-reader.

Grinning, I nodded enthusiastically. Meeting one's idol is rarely ever 'heaven' but an idolizer can dream, can't they?

"Where are we _really_ going?" asked Harold, resting his elbow on his thigh. His hand curled into a fist that his chin rested atop of. He stared avidly at me.

I turned a deaf ear to the questions, sustaining an aloof, mysterious smile, the secretive kind. With the way Thronden wove the caravan through alleyways, we weren't bee lining directly toward the Tower but creeping steadily closer.

"Where are we going?"

The cool, demanding voice was that of newbie female. Thronden stopped the wagons slowly…almost as if…by the silent command of the female. I frowned, turning. Said female caught my eye. She had long silver hair falling around her olive face. Deep, unnatural purple eyes glowed from the sockets; plucked silver eyebrows were furrowed with irritation. Her small, pink lips were pursed into a slight frown. She had a small nose. The female's figure was petite, small, but she reminded me of a chibi- diminutive body, oversized head, large, watery eyes, small nose and mouth.

Her tone made my throat choke with an emotion similar to that of rage, although it confused me _why_ I hated her without reason. Her manner was…abrasive to me.

I stared in amazement as Thronden announced, "The Master of the Tower has requested a Yule performance."

The reactions varied from loss of conscious to shock with wide eyes.

I know _my_ eyes were wide. Thronden answered to that woman as if _she_ was the troupe leader! Th-that little-little chit! What spell had she cast on the troupe?

'"_Please stay until things improve."'_

'"_A new, mysterious star has appeared on stage," Sebastius responded cryptically to my question._

"_There's a new member of the troupe?"_

_He dodged my question.'_

_For some reason I felt that Sebastius needed my support, that he was hurting. _

I stared at the 'mysterious star' in amazement and hatred. I kept my glance cool. "So you're the culprit," I whispered to myself.

She seemed to have heard me. "You must be new to the troupe. I have not seen you before. My name is Gwenda. It means 'fair and good, holy, white.'"

_Just because I was on an unexpected vacation doesn't mean I'm a newbie, you b- _"Actually, I'm not new," I corrected coldly. "I was sent on an errand and just got back. My name is Ana."

"What does your name mean?" she inquired with the curiosity of a child.

I was irritated. Who cared what my name meant? "It means 'get off of my back' and 'shut up'." Okay, the name 'Ana' doesn't mean that, but as you know already, this girl just rubs me the wrong way. Besides, I wanted her to stay away from me, make a bad first impression of myself to ward her away.

"How violent," she gasped in an either well-performed or overly dramatic way. "What a chaotic life you must be living, you poor dear."

"Don't give me that crap. You don't give a damn about me," is what I wanted to say, but that wouldn't have been smart. Instead, I replied, "Only recently since I've left the troupe but the storm will calm now. You don't need to be concerned for me." Why did I feel the primal urge to go for her jugular with my teeth? Or my hands?

"You are the famed Raistlin's Daughter," Gwenda commented. "You should be concerned about your welfare."

"Perhaps you should be concerned for your own for affiliating with me," I suggested slyly.

"I have no worries about that," Gwenda shrugged. "Your father will be overjoyed to see you."

I burst out laughing albeit mockingly. "Overjoyed? What are you on and why aren't you sharing?"

Gwenda frowned. "I don't comprehend. Is your father displeased with you?"

"Not yet," I sighed, glancing at the Tower with an ironic smile, "but he will be. He will be."

We arrived at the shut, black, twisted gates of the Tower of High Sorcery near eleven. The fear radiating the Tower made my excitement and awareness peak; I was a rabbit on Speed. Although the fear spell rumored to have been cast on the Tower by Nuitari, the black moon god, himself, the fear added to my hyperness. My heart leapt in my throat even as my stomach shriveled. My breathing came in quick spurts as I shook and screamed in my mouth.

This was it!

My knee began bouncing up and down, the heel tapping the wood like a machine gun. In order to calm myself, I stuffed my ear pieces into my ears and listened to the soothing music. Music may sooth the beast, but it also soothes the nervous beauty. I relaxed, humming along to the music.

* * *

One 'our later (the narrator's voice from Spongebob)

* * *

Thronden was pacing before the gates, hands clenched behind his back. The doughtier jokesters were standing nearby the twisted, forbidding gate, speaking 'magical' phrases they had heard street magicians say. 

"Abra Kadabra!"

"Open, says me!"

Curious, I pocketed my switched off iPod and ambled over. I wanted to touch the gate, reputed to be deathly cold, and not whip my hand back. I told myself that, no matter how cold, I would endure and grip tighter. Taking several deep breathes, I extended my arm and my fingers hovered above the ebony bars. Already I felt the chill emanated from the shafts.

I sucked in a breath as I clasped the bar.

And _holy_ fornication under the king, it was _bleepin' __**cold**_

Instead of whipping my hand away like normal people, my arm straightened, in the process, locking my elbow. The bars bit into my hands as I squeezed my pain into them.

Remember how the doctors tell you to 'hold still' when they give you a shot? That had been drilled into my skull so many times that I automatically stiffened and gave a slight twitch instead of the normal human way of squirming and screaming. I had been taught to sit through the pain, ignore it, grin and bear it so many times it was my automatic reaction to pain.

Shutting my eyes and gripping the bar, I hissed through my teeth, forcing myself to endure the pain, to ignore it. I told myself harshly to remember visiting a Science Center in America, sitting on that bench, gripping onto that frost-bitten blue bar and forcing myself to concentrate on the text on the sign before me.

The three jokesters had gone quiet and one of them was trying to gently pry my arm from the bar. Unbeknownst to them, it was a battle of guts between me and this accursed gate. As I began loosing feeling in my fingertips starting with my pinkie, it became easier and easier to ignore the pain…probably because my hand was freezing to the bar and I would end up stuck there.

I opened my eyes as my arm slackened, but my fingers held on comfortably. The pain was a message and the message was there, but I chose to ignore it.

"What are you _doing_?" demanded Henrie, the half-elf who had tried to pry my hand from the bars.

"Winning," I replied, a small, secretive smile fanning out on my face. The gate jerked open and I let go, nearly doing a face plant in the ground past the gates. Henrie caught me around the waist as I stumbled closer and closer toward the long-nailed pale hands that groped for me, my life.

I stared into the forest, breathless, as an invisible wind colder than thirty degrees rippled through the trees and smacked Henrie and I over. An outraged roar blasted through our ears as I sat up against the wind, shielding my face with my forearm, squinting into the black. I admit I was scared shitless, but I was so scared the fear passed through my body, leaving a wispy paralyzed and fascinated out-of-body experience for what remained of me.

"_Wow_," I breathed, trembling and wide-eyed. "That was awesome…." Henrie gaped at me. "Let's never do that again," I added shakily, standing up with rubbery legs.

Henrie gave a much shaken inhale and exhale. "Never, _ever_ challenge the Tower of High Sorcery again. It's an extremely sore loser." As if to agree with him, the gates shrieked as they slammed shut sulkily.

I ignored the gate and glanced down at my valiant, thoroughly numb left arm. "My poor arm," I sniffled dramatically, cradling it tenderly. "The brave soldier…you've gone to a better place." I caught Henrie staring at me with a 'what the hell' expression and laughed. I knew I was being melodramatic.

"Stop trying to piss off the Master of the Tower," snapped Thronden as he strode toward us.

I was about to reply with surprise that I wasn't trying to when the gates creaked open again. All of our heads whirled around to watch warily. Instead of a blast of icy wind, it was quiet. Too quiet. Deathly quiet.

"Everyone, into the wagons," the temporary leader called out as he himself jogged back to the first cart in line. I hopped into the seat beside him, clenching the edge of the wooden seat as my nails dug into it. A black robe, hood up, was almost literally gliding from within the gates.

"Is this cavalcade the Players of Gilean?" a smooth, deep, bored voice asked. I didn't notice the smoothness or deepness, just the boredom because I'm oblivious like that. It was as if we were troublesome to this person.

"It is," answered Thronden, who had paled but kept a tough front.

The hooded figure barely glanced me over as if I weren't worth eye-raping. Well, being eye-raped by a hooded stranger isn't something to brag about but I didn't care the black robe didn't think much of me. In fact, I didn't think much of him. To prove my point I didn't think much of him, I wouldn't think about him. _Ha, _I send in his direction silently.

The black robe began chanting, waving his arms in a coordinated pattern and every once in a while, a hand dipped into a pouch for a component- all part of the magical cadence. I kept my eyes wide open, focused on the professional magic-user, sucked into the power of Nuitari- the magic that bound the dragon blood to my own.

Pressure crushed the air from my lungs and my eyes burned as we passed through a black hall with white pillars and inestimable arches. I blinked. The scenery had changed. The entire caravan was parked before the looming, grim Tower of High Sorcery. I gazed up at the spiraled tip of the Tower, wondering the altitude or if I could fly up once.

As the aftereffects of the magic wore off, I felt my blood warming, singing. A smile –secretive but happy- spread on my face. Home. This place felt like home. It welcomed me, waited with open arms for a lost orphan conjurer. It made me feel accepted, happy. The sensation nearly made me cry.

Until another ice wave reduced the warm feeling to a sputtering spark.

I tore my eyes away from the Tower, now frowning. Dismembered ghostly eyes and hands floated in a complete circle around us. At the base of the Tower was a wooden door. Standing before that door was a figure I knew well, so well that I grinned lopsidedly. Another black robe, hems and cowl lined with gold, carrying a plain wood staff with a gold dragon claw forever holding a clear crystal- Raistlin Majere.

"You're late."

She had stepped out of the caravan unnoticed until now. Gwenda stood with her hands on her hips, one eyebrow arched. _Now, Thronden, tell me who is trying to piss off the Master of the Tower? _I thought. _As for that ornery girl, it's high time she swallowed a dosage of Tolkien! _

I turned in my seat so Gwenda could view a restrained version of my 'smartass' smile. "Actually, Gwenda, he isn't late. 'A wizard is never late, nor is he early. He arrives precisely when he means to'," I quoted from the first Lord of the Rings movie. I kept my face neutral, but my eyes coldly serenaded my victory. Gwenda glared at me.

"Correct, young apprentice," said Raistlin in a cool, detached voice. I gazed at him in surprise before blushing profusely as I turned my head to the side, biting my bottom lip with happiness as I smiled. I was too shy and embarrassed to say my thanks, but I silently whispered it in my mind. _Holy son of a bad word! He spoke to me! Hespoketo_me! Like a gnome or kender, when I get excited my thoughts jumble into 'one' word.

The hooded figure, which had silver lining his hems and cowl as well, now standing beside Raistlin was, I guessed, Dalamar. Gwenda ignored the quote and strode forward until she was nearly face-to-face with Raistlin. My eyebrows sky-rocketed as she jabbed her thumb on his chest while saying, "Sir, I _demand_ a full explanation of why you are late." My mouth nearly dropped. Good thing no flies or sane animals went anywhere near the Tower.

He regarded her coolly. "Are you the one known as Sebastius?"

"No," she scowled haughtily.

"Then I have no business with you," Raistlin said, slowly pushing away her finger from his person. I smiled widely, admiring his dismissal. You can see why I love Raistlin. I mean, he totally rejected Gwenda on the spot. Oh man, I wish Raistlin Majere _was_ my father.

He glanced at Thronden, leaving Gwenda gaping. "Are you Sebastius?"

"No, Master. Our leader is visiting his brother," Thronden replied, his skin ashen. "I'm sure he'll come soon."

"_Please stay until things improve."_

Behind Raistlin, Dalamar removed his hood and a snort of laughter almost escaped my mouth. I quickly covered my mouth with my jacket sleeve as I doubled over in the driver's seat, laughing.

Dalamar looked just like Snape!

Obviously, Raistlin's apprentice was better-looking, tanner, and just plain gorgeous but…

I couldn't have stopped laughing if I had wanted to. They were so similar! Snape and Dalamar had a lot in common: black, greasy hair, black robes, never smiled unless it was unpleasantly, had nasty tempers, were caustic, intelligent, had dry humor and were double-agents.

The conversation had stopped and the only sound I heard was my laughter.

"I-I'm sorry," I stammered out breathlessly, looking up with watering eyes. "It's just th-that-" I glanced at Dalamar before the laughter was renewed. _He looks so much like Snape! _

When my eye shifted to see Dalamar from behind a curtain of my yellow-auburn hair, the dark elf's lip was curled. _Just like Snape. _I sat up, propping myself against Thronden weakly, unable to stop the sounds of mirth that escaped me. I was laughing so hard, I was crying; well, a few rare tears crept down my cheek.

Raistlin went to ignoring me. "I expect to see Sebastius tomorrow."

Irritated I was using him as support, Thronden poked my forehead irritably as my laughter died down to hysterical giggling. "I'll send this runt. She knows where he is."

My elbow dug into my knee as I rested my head on my thumb, hiding the middle of my smile with my curled index finger. I refused to look to the right or left. To the left were my golden idol, Thronden, and the Snape-wanna-be. To the right were the horrors of the Shoikan Grove.

Raistlin transported the entire convoy of colorful wagons into a humungous room located near the bottom of the Tower, close to the door just in case Mr. Majere needed to kick us out.

As other troupe members cautiously ventured out, I leaned my back against a wagon, crossing my arms. I frequently glimpsed at Snape's twin and smiled broader each time. Apparently, Snape's twin knew I was silently mocking him, not admiring, and so he stood in one place, glaring at me. One time I stared at him as he glowered until I couldn't contain myself again.

"Why are you laughing at him?" whispered Brienda. She was a blond with baby blue eyes, porcelain skin, faint red cheeks, and bright pinkish-red lips- basically, a living nightmare known as Barbie.

I smiled at her. "Oh, he reminds me of my friend's Professor." I knew with his elf hearing, Dalamar had probably heard me. I hadn't tried to be subtle. Of course the 'friend' was Harry Potter because Harry and Snape had a hate fest between each other. It looked like I would be the Harry in this relationship…or, rather, Hermione.

Barbie's brows furrowed. "Professor?"

"The equivalent of a teacher," I explained.

"Oh." Yeah, _oh_.

Brienda gave me a small, fake concerned look. She happened to be the biggest gossiper in the troupe. "I don't think he likes you very much."

I patted her shoulder with a smile as I went to ask Thronden a question. "Hakuna Matata, Brienda. No matter how many death threats I receive or how many times my knuckles are slapped, Dalamar enjoys my company." I left her with raised eyebrows as I strode (I'm a naturally fast walker) toward the second in command.

* * *

AN: I don't own: The Wizard of Oz, Raistlin, Dalamar, Snape, Harry Potter, Barbie, the song 'We're Off to See the Wizard', Dora the Explorer, the narrator from Spongebob, or the quote from the first Lord of the Rings movie. 

Also, for those of you who have read the Things I Am Not to Do in a Tower of High Sorcery, you might recognize a combination of two quotes by Ainulin. (Thank Ainulin everybody)

So how is that for an update? I bet you love the fact I compared Dalamar to Snape ) Please review.


	21. For the Reaction of Dalamar

"If I pick up Sebastius, how are we going to get back in?"

Thronden turned with a script in each hand, an arched eyebrow. "You're speaking to the wrong person. If you want the answer, go ask your father."

I rolled my eyes. "He is not my father. How many times do I have to repeat that?"

"Until I tire of it which will not occur for some time," he replied, turning back around. In two senses, he was turning his back on me. It was disappointing, but I choked it down. This had happened to me before, but it happens to everyone. Everyone gets let down, but it's one of those things that remind us no one is perfect.

"Whatever." I walked away from him with a detached expression, although my throat was choked with hurt. Another person had let me down, and had done so _so_ coldly that I felt frostbitten; and the heart getting frostbitten is not something that heals overnight. It takes time.

I decided to use my hurt to my advantage because I didn't care what happened when I was hurt; because I was hurt, I didn't have to worry about shyness or clamming up, even before a complete stranger. Feeling sour, mixed emotions, I strode boldly up to my 'father' and asked with a detached expression, "If I pick up Sebastius, what method will we use to get back here?" I almost glared at him.

The Master of the Tower's head swiveled slowly –as a warning- in my direction. I knew he demanded respect and my tone had been slightly irritated, impatient, and casual but in no way respectful. He stared at me and I matched it. Finally, he responded, "I will give you two rings. One for Sebastius and one for you."

"Arigatou gozaimasu, Mejin," I thanked him in Japanese before retreating to the wagon I shared with Gwenda, Shaunacy, and Brienda. Yes, the gods hate me. I was sharing cramped quarters with the three thespians of the troupe that I disliked, even slightly hated.

I flopped back onto three plush pillows with an annoyed sigh. The only space I possessed: the darkest corner of the wagon with three pillows that offered no support to my head and one thin, white cambric sheet that could barely pass as a blanket. I sighed heavily again, bonking the back of my head against the wood, meditating.

_What would Maximum Ride do? _I wondered. _Even though she would probably never get herself into a mess like this. Would the Erasers follow? Would Ari try to kill Max despite being in an alien world? Poor Ari, seven years old and he expired. _

Have you ever jumped into an icy pool or even fell in? Stuck your finger in an electric socket? Hit by lightening? Had a bad epiphany?

It feels like every single nerve is screaming from the electrical overload, tingling acutely with realization and pain. And the message of pain spreads from impact through the suffering body to the panicked brain as it shuts down with shock from the critical, surplus of signals.

Well, I had an epiphany that overloaded by brain with a horrible option.

Ari hadn't been born an Eraser; he had the lupine DNA grafted into him when he was a few years old. He lived to be seven years old before his expiration date kicked in. I was around fifteen-sixteen. How much longer did I have to live? About a decade? Even shorter?

The sucky part about science (and math) is the unknown variables. Even though death can strike at any time, it's more terrifying for mutants. Mutants never have an easy life: born in a cage, having blood samples taken, running harsh tasks, competing against other experiments to live. If a mutant is lucky enough to escape, they spend the rest of their miserable life trying to blend into the world while being hunted by well-funded, well-equipped, fed, washed Erasers. Morale of the story, kids: don't choose being a mutant for your career.

_Wait. _I frowned, brows furrowing. _I have dragons blood in me. Dragons live for hundreds to thousands of years at a time. That leaves me with one question: Do I have all the time in the world or no time at all?_

My hand unconsciously went to itch at the black lotus tattoo. I gazed down at it. Sebastius had said that death couldn't touch me if I had the mark of the Players of Gilean, _but_ I was the only player in the history of the troupe who had ever gotten sick. I was pretty sure I was the only one whose tattoo had faded to a dark gray and itched like hell.

I could feel it- life strangling me with a wet noodle.

"I need to fly," I groaned, getting up. The wind would clear my head and judgment; not to mention, when I didn't fly for some time, I tended to get edgy and my wings cramped.

My hand reached for the handle of the door when it turned of its own accord. I stared at it as the door also opened seemingly by itself, and then I spotted Gwenda holding the handle, looking as surprised to see me. We avoided each other at all costs with the occasional blue moon bumping.

"Oh good, I needed to see you," she said, barging in while effectively blocking the one and only exit.

I had my back against the wall. "And?"

"You will _not_ get Sebastius." Her deep purple eyes bored into mine. Silver brows connected in a concentrated V as her small lips pressed together.

I blinked. "Would you care to explain why?"

"No, it is not your business," Gwenda answered too quickly, grasping tightly onto my shoulders. Long nails dug into my flesh. "Do as I say."

Face twisted in disbelief, I pushed her shoulders. "None of my business? If it concerns the troupe leader and his welfare, I believe that does make it my business, newbie. You are most definitely _not_ my boss." I slipped past her and fled the now contaminated wagon.

Gwenda followed me and called to my back. "Just because you're Raistlin's Daughter doesn't mean you have any power."

I turned around with a sarcastic, dangerous smile, the kind of smile that men know when they should cover their family jewels very quickly or run. "Did I ever imply I had power? Let's think about that, no. Did I ever imply I was Raistlin's Daughter? You insinuated it."

Gwenda puffed up, resembling an angry fish with blotchy cheeks. "Go to hell!"

"I did," I said sweetly. "I have a restraining order." I stopped smiling. "Now, am I correct in assuming that crap comes out of the butt, not the mouth? Because all I hear is crap flowing from your mouth. I could fix it for you or refer you to a doctor."

Gwenda was speechless. So was everyone else who had watched and heard. My verbal stab being said and done, I pivoted on my heel and made my way toward the door of the Tower.

If I had smiled while saying my little spiel, that would have meant I was happy and gloating that I had hurt my opponent. Not smiling and acting indifferent meant that the opponent and their pain didn't cross my mind- calculating, cold, _and_ apathetic. The effect was similar to sticking a sharp object into a balloon: it utterly blew them away.

Satisfied, I exited the Tower of High Sorcery unmolested.

* * *

I glanced back at the Shoikan Oak Grove, the large oaks sitting there innocently. It didn't care when someone left, but it sat up when someone wanted in. I exhaled the icy feeling that had lodged in my chest. It was quickly replaced by the seeds of guilt. Being that cold wasn't my thing and I was beginning to regret what I had said. 

I shook my head fiercely. "What's done is done," I told myself.

As I cast an invisibility spell and took off, I mentally listed all the wonderful things I had accomplished today: reserved a place on Dalamar's hit list, topped Gwenda's hit list, displayed to the troupe that I was fully capable of being an Ice Queen, met Raistlin Majere, mocked his apprentice, and was widely despised by the Players of Gilean for scrawling 'hell yes' in all capital letters on the condemning missive that landed us in the Tower.

Yes, today had been fruitful.

Sarcasm engulfed me and waved its banner proudly around me.

Rather than taking twenty minutes to half an hour to walk, it took five disappointingly short flying minutes to arrive at the Great Library. Another five for Bertrem to peer through the door cautiously and admit me in the library. As I waited for Bertrem to announce my arrival to his master and my master, I leisurely tiptoed through the rows of bookshelves, afraid to break the peaceful, private silence.

My eyes longingly took in the shelved sources of knowledge, fiction and non-fiction. "Sanctuary," I whispered with a small smile. Like the homey feeling the Tower gave me, libraries were my second home. The bookshelves were all full of history, touching the ceiling and floor. The Great Library gave a visitor the impression that it never ended; the maze of books: the back of the library couldn't be seen, even with my enhanced superhuman eyes squinting.

I smiled, fingertips dragging along the leather spines. Peace. Quiet. Privacy. I could lose myself in the maze of shelves and novels, find my own isle, and read until my eyeballs dissolved. I could be content here, surrounded by my friends and family. Some books slouched lazily or like drunks while others stood at attention. Here one could learn all the world had to offer yet never enter the world.

I sighed, fondly caressing the spine of a particularly thick book with my index finger, when I heard a stifled cough.

"Molesting my books?" Astinus inquired dryly.

My hand flew to my side as my eyes frantically avoided the Chronicler. "Erm, well –you see- I-uh…" I tend to stammer when embarrassed. And not look at the person. And fidget. And admire the floor. And shift my weight almost constantly. And pull my sleeves over my knuckles. Let's not forget the classical blush-every-shade-of-red.

"Rai-The Master of the Tower wants to speak with you, Sebastius," I muttered, scuffing the carpet with my worn tennis shoe. Hm, I needed new shoes.

"Please speak up, Ana. You are absolutely horrendous when it comes to projection," Sebastius said. "We will have to work on that."

"Yessir." I wanted to build myself an igloo of ice cubes and move into it. Then again, Bertrem and the other scribes wouldn't have appreciated an igloo built in the middle of an isle, especially when the igloo began to melt. Back on track.

Astinus handed his brother something while watching me. "The Master of the Tower dropped these off as you arrived. If you'll excuse me, history is in desperate need of recording. I enjoyed your stay, Sebastius."

"You too, Astinus," the brother said as Astinus disappeared behind one of the numerous bookshelves. His blue eyes pierced me. "Are you one of her sycophants?"

"Only yours, Master," I smiled. "She could never replace you, no one could or can. I'm loyal to you."

"Loyal as a griffon," my master mused. "I'm glad." He opened his hand. Two plain gold rings lay innocently in his palm. I took one, poising it at my fingertip.

"Ready?"

"My ring is too small," Sebastius commented. Of course. His hands were big and his fingers literally resembled white sausages. Sebastius was in no way, shape, or form a small man. Luckily, I knew a spell to enlarge the ring. After casting the spell twice on his ring, we slid the rings on our fingers. The sensation didn't differ from the time Dalamar had transported the entire column of wagons: a moment of nauseous-ness and, presto change-o, we were in the Tower standing before a desk at which the Master sat.

I slid the ring off my finger and gently set it on an unoccupied corner of Raistlin's desk which overflowed with paper. Paper, jars containing things I didn't want to know the contents, and a skull that was staring at me. Me, being the childish dork I am, stared back at it. _Ooooh, a skull. _

"Ana."

My attention went from the skull to Raistlin, my expression one of curiosity.

"Did you start the rumor that you are my daughter?" the Master asked gravely.

I was surprised. "No," I answered in an automatic 'are you crazy' tone.

"Can you tell me who did then?" It didn't take a genius to tell he was watching me shrewdly.

I gave a wry smile. "Your brother." Caramon's voice echoed in my memories: _"Brother?"_

Raistlin sat back against his chair- a sign that could be interpreted as dark brooding. "Tell me what happened."

Blushing, I tried to think of where to begin the tale. "I woke up after having a barrel fall on me in one of the Inn's rooms. Because my clothes were wine-soaked and had been kindly burned by the troupe, the only clothes left were a pair of black robes. Not knowing where I was, I went to in the hall to get my bearings. Your brother saw me from the back and said, "'Brother?'"

"Turning around, I saw the reddish auburn haired version of the Scorpion King. "'Brother…'" I murmured, trying to figure out what idiot would think I was a guy. "'Raist, what happened to you?! How did you reverse the gold skin, the eyes, the hair? Did the spell go wrong and that's why you're young?'" Accused of being you, I responded, "'Uhm…'"

"Unfortunately, he assaulted me with a killer hug, saying, "'Raist.'"

"'My shoulders hurt, you fool!'" I snapped because that's where the barrel hit.

"He let go. "'I'm sorry Raist, but I'm so glad you came back. Please stay until you can formulate a spell that will revert you back to your original age.'"

"'Caramon, I'm not your brother,'" I said. "'I am a girl, not a boy.'"

"He began asking questions. "'What day were we born?'"

"'July 17th, 326 A.C.,'" I answered automatically. _Oh man, I'm so screwed. _

"'What is the name of our half-sister?'"

"'Kitiara Uth-Matar.'"

_Here is my death sentence. _"'What happened during your Test in the Tower of High Sorcery we forbid each other to speak of?'" Unfortunately, I knew the answer and this convinced Caramon I was your brother. I tried to convince him otherwise, and he concluded I was your daughter so he showed me to Tika.

"Ma'am, please restrain your husband. I am in no way, shape, or form related to this fool or the famously infamous Raistlin Majere. If he doesn't stop molesting my arm, I'll hand him over to the police for assault and disturbing the peace,'" I warned Tika.

"'Assault?'"

"'He hugged me. My shoulder hurts like a mother.'"

She fingered her iron skillet. "'Disturbing whose peace?'"

So, I explained, "'If word spread that I was Raistlin's daughter, there would be no peace. Not to mention Raistlin would probably bash me over the head with the Staff of Magius.'"

Of course, the witch said, "'If you think you're going to tell the police, I'll let it slip you are Raistlin's daughter.'"

"'Fine, just stop him from acting all creepy,'" I agreed. They argued if I was your daughter or not, but Caramon finally brainwashed Tika by saying, "'This girl has the features Raist had: blue eyes, auburn hair although not yellow auburn, extremely think, and tall. I'll be darned if she doesn't have his traits: intelligent, witty, and sarcastic. She even shares his passion for the magic.'"

"'She lacks something that Raistlin has. She lacks a fire, the ambitions,'" Tika tried.

"'That lack of fire could be from her mother,'" Caramon reasoned and Tika questioned him no more. Somehow the rumor leaked," I finished with a shrug. I knew I was going to get bitten hard for the answer to the Test question.

"The troupe thought your mother was kyrie," Sebastius added. Rather unnecessarily, or so I thought.

I gave my troupe leader a look. Whose side was he on? "That's not important."

"Every bit is important as the last," my 'father' disagreed. "You are dismissed." I could practically hear the menacing unspoken '_for now'_. I scurried from the room quickly, the door shutting on its own. My hands slid into my pockets as I thought, _Maybe I should have flown longer._

_Hhm…I really want to go outside and do something worthwhile today. I don't feel like sittin' in my corner. Yule is coming up soon, isn't it? In about…shit! Two days! I have such a bad memory! I could get everyone presents; Farhana's money won't do any good collecting dust, but who to get what? _I continued down the stairs, lost in thought.

_Thronden needs a pair of boots…Brienda wants cosmetics…Glip wants a dead rat, ew…Harold complains about his clothes; what a diva…the costume maker requires new needles and more thread…Gwenda wants control of the troupe, but I'll get her something…I need to get to the Great Library fast! _

With an excited smile, I began hopping down the treacherous spiral staircase two steps at a time. I burst part the room where the Players of Gilean were being housed before skidding to a halt. I needed someone who knew the currency of Krynn. Henrie! I ran into the room, grabbed Henrie by the wrist, and literally dragged him from the room.

"Wha-where? _Ana_?!" Henrie said, confused. "Why are you kidnapping me?"

"I need you," I gasped breathlessly as we left the tower in a flurry.

"I'm flattered, but where are we going?"

"To storm Palanthas!" I cried. The Shoikan Grove was behind us in a wink and we came to a stop. "Okay, first things first. We are going to fly because walking is much too slow and my wings need a good stretch."

Henrie frowned. "Won't we be seen and shot out of the sky?"

"What am I again, Henrie?"

"Really weird."

"Thank you, but I'm _also_ a mage," I reminded him while knocking gently on his apparently wooden head. "Meaning not only am I frickin' awesome, but we can be invisible."

"Ah. Can I see your wings before we become invisible?"

"No." I cast the invisibility spell, wrapped my arms around Henrie, unfurled my wings, and took to the skies. Unfortunately, it turns out Henrie is very afraid of heights.

"WE'RE GONNA DIE!"

"Shut up!"

"Ana, do you think they'll have an extra pair of trousers at the Great Library?"

"Henrie, you're disgusting."

* * *

After buying a magical Mary Poppins pouch from Mistress Jenna, I dragged Henrie with me across Palanthas until there was only one person left to get a present for. 

Snape.

"Frick," I cursed. "We need to get to Silvanesti."

"What?!" Henrie gaped. "You're not bloody serious, are you?"

"Others' happiness is my happiness, Henrie."

"I would be happy not to go with you," he offered.

I rolled my eyes. "Don't be silly. Of course you're coming with me!" When he tried to run, I caught him and magically glued Henrie's hand around my waist, keeping him close and within arm reach. Then I went back to perusing the vendors for water and travel foods.

"Come on," I said, heading toward the entrance gates.

"Like I have any choice," grumbled the grouchy jokester.

I stopped. "Frick." The guards would recognize me as the U.F.O. that entered the city. "Double frick." And then there was the blue dragon. Wait, didn't Kit ride a blue dragon? Screw her, I needed to get to Silvanesti.

Henrie was suddenly interested at my unexpected halt. "What?"

"Nothing." I cast a camouflage spell on us and a silencing hex on Henrie so he didn't alert anyone with his girly squeals.

When Lorac had stolen a dragon orb from a Tower of High Sorcery before the Cataclysm, he had tried to use it during the War of the Lance to save Silvanesti but the orb used Lorac. The orb summoned Cyan Bloodbane, who hated elves with a passion. Cyan whispered nightmares into Lorac's ears and the nightmares became reality. Gnarled trees bled, dead elves killed their loved ones, deformed animals tried to kill themselves, seeking peace. Porthios and Alhana Starbreeze were fighting the nightmare, but there was something there I hoped to find.

Even if the hope was a dying spark.

To see Dalamar react strongly was worth it.

With my internal compass as our guide and my panic hastening us, I only stopped for bathroom breaks and quick meals. By nightfall, we were cruising over water and passing over Zahakar. I hyperventilated, exhausted and breaking out in sweat, but refused to rest. If I rested, I would fall asleep and waste precious time. _So tired…_ Even adrenaline ran out at some point, and then it was all willpower. And even willpower ran out.

"Calm down, Ana. You'll give yourself an ulcer," yawned Henrie. The lucky morons had been asleep since Solanthus.

"I only have _one_ day," I whined. I had used my magic to double my speed, clocking me a bit over two hundred miles per hour- about the power it takes to lift an airplane from the ground. "I'll probably spend _half_ of it sleeping."

"Why is this so urgent? What are you killing yourself to get?"

"Honey wafers."

Honey wafers were impossibly flimsy –like rice paper thin- but insanely expensive, maddeningly rare, and irresistibly desirable. The secret was Silvanesti bees produced the honey, which was mixed with crystal dew and flower pollen. The crystal dew was made from Silvanesti plants and flowers- each plant's life trapped in every precious droplet, each plant giving a distinct flavor. The earthly flower pollen was richer than the crystal honey dew. These sweeties were doled out at festive occasions such as weddings and births.

The only problem was none outside the elven country knew the secret of the delicacy's construction.

Henrie sucked in his breath. "What lucky bastard is getting those!?"

"I'm giving the dark elf a piece of his home for Yule." My wings tilted down as we began descending. I was too drained to go any further.

Henrie was silent for a moment. The peaceful thunderous silence filled the air. "You're very thoughtful," he said after a moment.

"I usually am when it seems no one is looking." One thousand feet. Gliding down, down, down…

"So you never get any credit?"

"That's how it goes," I responded wearily. Six hundred feet and descending.

Henrie leaned his head into my shoulder. "So, under that distant, cold exterior is an incredibly sweet and thoughtful person."

Blushing modestly, I grumbled, "Tell anyone and I'll drop you." Four hundred feet.

"I won't tell a soul," he grinned.

"Hn." I tucked in my wings and dive bombed three hundred feet before pulling up, floating the remaining one hundred feet. We touched down close to Silvanesti. I dropped Henrie and fell to my knees, near losing consciousness.

* * *

He touched Ana's shoulder as she tucked in her wings. Her _wings _for crying out loud! He decided to ignore her alien appendages and concentrate on her welfare. She had flown from Palanthas to Silvanesti- a feat which would take a month or two by wagon, even longer by foot, but by pushing herself, she had made it in a little over twelve hours. 

To fly that distance for a present for an outcast!

"Are you okay?"

Ana only moaned, lying on her back on the ground. She wasn't okay. Her face was covered with sweat and her breathing was labored. Henrie wiped her face with his sleeve. There was a question her had been dying to ask. "Why me? Why bring me?"

"I can trust you," she gasped. "Can you see me carrying Sebastius in the air?"

Henrie chortled as she lost consciousness, "You rest and I'll see what I can do about those wafers." He gave her forehead a light kiss. Henrie lifted Ana and he heard the sound of an arrow being drawn behind him.

"What are you doing here?"

* * *

SPLASH! 

"Ugnhhhhhh," I groaned, turning over. I had a migraine the size of the Americas. What had I drunk last night? On second thought, what _hadn't_ I drunk? Oh yeah, I had flown from Palanthas to Silvanesti in little less than a day. All the while carrying a fellow troupe member who was afraid of heights.

"Up." Henrie didn't seem like the aggressive type. Wait, that wasn't his voice.

Grimacing, I forced open my eyes to see a haggard yet super model hot female. Her eyes were purple like Gwenda's but her hair was blacker than a crow's wing, face pale as snow. "What are you doing here?" Unfortunately, the most beautiful people tended to be the cruelest.

"Dying," I groaned, stretching cautiously.

"Would you be as joking with your life?"

I glared at her drowsily. "I'm brain-_dead_, lady. Let me wake up first." She did let me wake up, alright. She drowned me with another bucket of water.

"What are you doing here?"

"Looking for someone who can make honey wafers," I responded. "Tomorrow is Yule."

The elf woman studied me as I sat up, massaging my temples. "The person must be very precious. Where do you hail from?"

"Palanthas." I decided to let the 'precious' thing go. It was more the reaction that was precious to me and how precious the gift would be to the receiver.

"Too bad your trip was in vain," she said, watching my face. "The plants are twisted and animals deformed. Those who enter Silvanesti are in danger of becoming ensnared by the dream."

I bit my bottom lip. "Do they have delicacies similar to honey wafers in Qualinesti?"

"No. You aren't going to give up?"

I smiled, thinking of _Naruto_. "Believe it. Are there documents of ingredients? A list of the makers' names? A storage of honey wafers?"

The elf's face remained cool and impassive, reminding me of Dalamar. "I do not know."

"Is there any way to tell? Can I…go in the royal kitchens and look? Since I'm not an elf, the dream shouldn't affect me…right?" My brows furrowed.

"The dream affected the humans who entered," she said.

"I'm no ordinary human." That much was true. I wasn't even fully human anymore.

"You must be or had the assistance of an exceptionally powerful magician to have teleported from Palanthas to Silvanesti. Were you sent here by…?"

_Raistlin or Dalamar? _I smiled. "I'm sure the dream won't affect me. Haven't you heard? I'm 'Raistlin's Daughter'."

She gasped audibly and another elf –male- charged into the tent, sword half-drawn. "Is something wrong, your Majesty?" Majesty…obsidian hair…purple eyes…Alhana Starbreeze! The male elf must be the loyal Samar.

She confirmed my suspicions. "Nothing, Samar."

Samar quickly glanced in my direction and I smiled secretively. "Do you know where Henrie is?"

Samar beat his queen to the punch. "He is in the dream, searching for sweeties- a waste of time and his life."

"Actually, he won't die," I said, getting up. "He can't and neither can I. Will you please let me go after him?"

The two elves were silent. I tiptoed cautiously around Samar as if he would suddenly begin waving his sword at me. Before me stood one of the creepiest sights ever, the nightmare called Silvanesti. "Wow," I whistled. "Cyan really did a number on this place."

"You know of Cyan?" Alhana inquired sharply, coming out of the tent briskly.

"Well…yeah," I said lamely. "Please tell your archers not to shoot me down."

Samar snorted. "What are you going to do? _Fly_ in?"

I smiled. "Exactly. If you'll excuse me, your Majesty and Samar, I've got a friend to save and wafers to retrieve. Thanks for the hospitality." I turned and ran toward Silvanesti –a place Alien or Predator would have loved to call home- and spread my wings.

I heard Alhana shouting something in Elvish amongst other elf cries. I swallowed down bile while flying over the wasted lands. Everything was black, stunk to high heaven, gnarled, evil, and repulsive. The trees and animals hurt my heart; I could feel the pain from the faint animal cries and silent tortured screams of the trees. I saw the royal home, untouched. Landing on the courtyard outside the palace, I shoved open the large, dusty doors.

Or tried to. They were rusted shut.

Irritated, I kicked the door and it creaked open loudly. A glance behind told me that nothing –living, dead, or undead- had heard or cared. I ran inside, dashing around madly, muttering "royal kitchen."

"Henrie!" I called, cupping my hands around my mouth as I darted about. "Henrie! This isn't the place to play hide-and- seek! The Tower is a better place to play; it doesn't have undead wandering about without command! If you're trying to scare me, this isn't funny."

I managed to bumble into the ornate, abandoned kitchen. "Wow, the elves had good taste," I murmured appreciatively, opened and closing cabinets. No decent food in the pantry or in the cupboards. All of it had disintegrated into dust or molded so badly I swore it could move. It was then I happened upon some papers.

Something seized my sides and I gasped, heart stopping, as I whirled around, wide-eyed. Why hadn't I screamed? I inhaled so quickly the scream imploded in me, rather than projected out my mouth. Henrie began laughing, clutching at his sides as he leaned against a dusty counter. I gaped stupidly at him for a whole five minutes and before you could say 'shit', anger was brewing the magic as it rushed through my veins.

"Henrie," I growled through gritted teeth. Being part dragon, the growl literally imitated a deep, low rumbling of a dragon. Oops, had that come from me?

"Istar be damned," he cursed running away as I began hurling spells at his retreating back, screaming.

"YOU IDIOT! I NEARLY DIED OF A FRICKIN' HEART ATTACK! WHAT WERE YOU THINKING? OH, WAIT! YOU WEREN'T! WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING, HENRIE?! STAND STILL SO I CAN BUTCHER YOU!" I shrieked, throwing fire and brimstone at the smiling jokester as I chased after him. An inarticulate, griffon-ish scream tore from my throat as I yelled at the top of my voice. "GO BURN IN THE ABYSS! NEVER, EVER SCARE ME AGAIN!" With a snarl, I stiffly stormed back to the kitchen to rifle through the newly discovered papers.

Muttering things a hardened war veteran or Ergothian would either be proud of or faint, I thumbed through the recipes. "Treacle Tower Tarts…hm, banana split with a different name…oh, chocolate fondue! Yummy." I finished with that stack. I glanced at the remaining towering stack of yellow paged stacks of parchment and scrolls.

"If I come in, are you going to kill me?" Henrie was back without his tail between his legs.

"No because time is killing us," I said, skimming.

"So harsh, but so true," sighed Henrie. "Well, for others. We have all the time in the world."

"But Christmas doesn't," I snapped.

"Christmas?"

I gave Henrie a brief, simple explanation. "Where I come from we call Yule Christmas. Now shut up and start skimming."

* * *

"Found the little bastard," Henrie called out after an hour of his frantic skimming and my magical studying. 

I gave the recipe a pained glower. "About time! It's nearly noon!" Taking out a fresh, blank scroll and ink well with a quill, I carefully copied it down verbatim, every word legibly written. Using a mild wind spell to dry the ink, I began telling Henrie my plan. "Before we leave, I have to give Alhana and Porthios their Chr-Yule gift. I'll use a few spells to get us zipping to Solanthus where we will break half an hour for rest. From there on it's a straight shot to Palanthas. We should reach the marble city by midnight at latest."

"You're weird. All this for Dalamar? You must have a thing for him," Henrie snorted.

I grinned. "You say 'weird' like it's a bad thing and the only thing I have for Snape is his present."

"Why are you risking your life and mine for this?"

"Because it makes the gift all the more valuable," I answered the no-brainer. "I want to see his reaction. I know he loves and misses Silvanesti. Wouldn't you want a piece of home for Yule especially if you were kicked out of your home forever?"

"I would know," Henrie said bitterly, "I can't go back to mine. I was too feminine for my father and my mother wanted a girl…According to him, acting and plays weren't manly. He kicked me out when I was seventeen, out in the cold." He was unwilling to say anymore.

"Then you, of all people, should understand why I'm doing this," I whispered, patting his shoulder.

Henrie was moody as I gave the elf Majesties the bag of two hundred pieces of steel I had brought to buy the honey wafers. The tension between Henrie and I was uncomfortable as we made the journey back. As a joke, during the stop at Solanthus, I played the _William Tell Overture_ which is often used as 'to the rescue!' music. Now I pushed myself to reach Palanthas in time.

The obsession to be on time consumed me.

Once more I ran out of adrenaline, once more I ran on willpower, once more the willpower began ebbing as the sun dipped farther and farther behind the snow-capped mountains. Twice, I ran into a snowstorm, got turned around, before finding my way again. I was getting desperate.

Winds screamed and swung at my wings. Henrie clung onto me for desperate life as I tried to pilot us to safety- a seemingly impossible feat. Instead of having my words snatched away by the wind, I used telepathy to communicate with Henrie. _This is Palanthas, but I can't see a damned thing! I'm getting bamboozled. _

'_So cold. So cold. Why couldn't you just transport us to the Tower or something!?'_

_I don't know the spell, plus the Tower would have anti-transport spells guarding it. Raistlin would be sure of that, _I mentally grumbled, cold myself.

'_Damn Raistlin. Damn Dalamar. Damn this weather! I want to get inside and warm up before I can never feel my limbs again! Or fall to my death!'_

_Shut up! If I try to land, we might end up impaling ourselves on something._

'_Can't you fly _above_ the storm?' _Henrie wasn't happy.

_No, I'm too weak. I'm about to fall out of the sky as it is, _I admitted, feeling the cold trying to seduce me with slumber, beloved slumber.

And then I heard something. A voice calling in the storm. I could almost place the name…

It was Raistlin. Searching with his mind.

Gathering my mental strength as I shut my eyes, I telepathically answered in a shout, _RAISTLIN!_

Suddenly it all stopped- no wind, no erratic flight, no deathly chill, nothing. The change was so sudden, so random that my brain flipped trying to figure what was going on. Like a befuddled bird, I was flapping wildly about six feet in the air before my brain forgot how to flap. I curled protectively around Henrie –who was cursing- as we fell.

We never hit the ground. We landed softly on hard, solid, good ole' ground.

Of course Henrie scrambled to get away from me elbowing my stomach in the process. I was too busy trying not to puke my guts up to care. I shut my eyes, furling into a shivering miserable ball, as my ears faintly picked up a quickly exchanged dialogue between Raistlin and Henrie. A warm hand shook my shoulder the same time a voice called out to me.

I ignored it. If someone would honor me with a fiery death, I would ask the gods bless them.

'_Are you alright?' _Raistlin buzzed in my mind, almost like poking someone to irritation.

After a strong shudder, I asked, _Can I die yet?_

'_No.'_

_Of course not. Can I go to sleep?_

'_No. Do you feel any warmth?' _What a strange question to ask. Snap. Had I wet myself?

_Uhm, that depends where…I do feel it on my forehead. Barely though. _

No reply. I heard Raistlin's voice from outside my head. Someone gently pried me from my fetal position before picking me up bridal style. I tried curling up again but the same person warned me not to. The warmth Raistlin had mentioned spread from my forehead across my face, waking the numbed nerves.

Splashing…water…feet submerging in water…rest of body submerging in water with person who carried me…head above water. The liquid felt the same temperature as my skin but it burned. I squirmed but the person who carried me had a painfully iron clad grip. '_Stop squirming. If you don't warm up, you'll die of that frostbite and hypothermia. If you warm too quickly, the blood will rush to your heart and it will explode.'_

_Lucky me, _I thought weakly. I was so tired all I could do was relax. I started as the person –could it be Raistlin?- splashed a little water on my face.

'_My apologies.' _Was it too hard to ask to black out? During my inability to pass out, I admired how incredibly gentle and sensitive my caretaker was. They were sorely tempting me with slumber, but every time something brought me back, whispering, _'Not yet, not yet. You will rest soon.'_

* * *

I was sleeping. It was warm, cozy, and an equally warm and cozy blanket enveloped my body in its embrace. Warmth circulated lazily in my veins, inducing drowsiness. Yet my mind was uneasy as it began waking. It searched for a piece of lost information that flitted beyond its reach, tantalizing, teasing. 

_Ugh, what day is it? Did I miss it? Did I miss Yule? What am I doing sleeping! _

"What day is it?" I shrieked, jerking up suddenly, trying to free myself from the constricting covers and rush out of bed…much like someone who glances at an alarm clock and sees they are extremely late for work.

"It is the twenty-second of December," answered a dry, irritated, raspy voice. "Otherwise known as Yule."

I stared at Raistlin curiously. "Oh, hi. What are you doing here?" _Why is Raistlin in Silvanesti?_

"I live here."

I frowned. "No, you live in…wait, where am I?" I looked around curiously, utterly lost. "Wait a sec, I gave that to them…twice through those…but then…oh yeah, I remember. Sweetness." I beamed at Raistlin. "Thank you and if you want your present, you have to take off your hood. I want to see you try _not_ to smile."

"I'll pass," he said.

I stuck my tongue at him. "Whatever, Mr. Grinch."

"No, not whatever." He sounded mad. "Running off without warning as to where you are going is _not_ 'whatever'. Do you know what grief you've caused me?"

"An ulcer?" When they saw their presents, the looks on their faces, it would be worth it. _It will be worth it, _I reminded myself with my trademark secretive smile, _in the end, it will be worth it. _

"Where did you and your friend visit? Obviously you were not in Palanthas because I searched every spider and rat's nest for you two at the persistence of your master." Yup, he was anything but thrilled.

I tried to come up with something terribly clever yet unrevealing. "I visited one of the ghostly haunts of your past. Probably not one of your favorites."

He glared at me. I took it as a hint to give him the answer.

"Snape's home," I giggled. "I got him a more pleasant piece of his homeland."

"How considerate." He was still annoyed, no, angry.

"We'll finish this lively conversation later," I shrugged with a sly smile. "May I see Sebastius please?" My leg was bouncing up and down rapidly on the bed- a sign of excitement and a way of exerting pent energy.

"You may after one last question. Is killing yourself for others a regular occurrence?" Uh oh. The anger was going to silent anger- the scary, pent-up, explosive kind.

"Well, where I grew up, Yule is known as Christmas. Instead of burning a Yule log, we give each other gifts," I explained. "It's like…a huge get-together thing where everyone brings gifts for the others." It felt awkward explaining this to Raistlin. To make it less awkward, I left religion out because I doubted anyone on Krynn would care about Earth religion; they had their gods and were happy…ish with them. Imagine trying to explain Jesus or Kwanza or Hanukah to a Krynnian; you would be framed a charlatan.

As Raistlin started to leave, I began playing the beginning 'Yeah Yeah' by Bodyrox. The techno and electronics sounds made him pause and turn around. I stared at the wall, singing along, "You think you got it all worked out, but you don't know nothin', nothin', nothin'. You think that you can rub me out, but I'm made of somethin', somethin', somethin'. I can teach you a thing or two (yeah oh yeah). I can teach you a thing or two (yeah oh yeah). I can teach you a thing or two (yeah oh yeah)."

My eyes met Raistlin's golden hourglass ones. "I can teach you a thing or two (yeah oh yeah)." I changed the song to 'Explosive' by Bond. He listened impassively and when it was over he left without a word. I lay down and nuzzled the pillow affectionately while purring. _So comfy! And Sebastius is coming! It's Yule! Wohoo! _

I squealed with exhilaration, rubbing my face in the pillow before sitting up and bouncing my leg again. Yes, I am strange when hyper, not to mention annoying. When Sebastius came in, I squeaked his name in a shrill, joyous voice and tried to run out of bed to hug him. But my legs gave out. _Dang it, _I cursed, sitting up, _I flew so much yesterday my legs forgot their strength. _

"Hold your horses, Ana. I'm sure you are exhausted. I heard you had quite the journey," my master chuckled as he picked me up like a doll. I embraced him enthusiastically, purring. Later, I planned to glomp Raistlin for saving my and Henrie's lives…right after I glomped Severus just to annoy him.

"I got everyone a present," I said as he set me on the bed. I began digging through the Mary Poppins pouch, pulling out several boxes and bags before coming upon his present.

Sebastius gave me a look before opening it. It was a complete script of _The Christmas Carol_ by Charles Dickens (Mistress Jenna copied directly from my memory onto paper- which hurt like hell). Resting atop of the play was a bag of one hundred steel coins and a sixty watt lightbulb-sized diamond. I blushed as Sebastius kissed my cheek and thanked me.

I got Sebastius to take me to the room where the troupe was camped out. One by one my presents were opened.

Thronden was pleased with his new boots. Brienda mooned over her cosmetics. Glip began sobbing with joy when he saw three dead rats. Harold admired his new clothes; the costume maker praised me for the needles and thread. The dwarf Tyrell asked if I got his ale from Thorbardin, but I said no. Benny was reading the book on demons I got him after he called me 'demon child' again. Everyone was pleased with their gift.

Gwenda had yet to open hers. Instead, she glowered at me, silently accusing me of being an assassin or murderer. Sorely tempted as I had been to give her a viper, I found a suitable gift for her. I watched with a smile as curiosity got the better of her.

"A watch?" She was contemptuous.

I rolled my eyes. "An _ordinary_ watch from me? You've got to be crazy."

She opened it and the watch began singing 'Living in a Bubble' by Eiffel 65. Closing and opening it again, it serenaded, 'Let It Be' by the Beatles. As another special feature, it had a 3-D map of Krynn that hovered a foot above the bronze watch.

"If you touch one of the names, it will zoom in," I told her as everyone gaped at me. Ah, the advantages of knowing what a satellite is. It was like a GPS.

"What is this red dot on Palanthas?" she asked, pointing. Her finger accidentally touched it and the map zoomed in, showing a layout of the city. The red dot was focused on the lower part of the Tower of High Sorcery.

"That red dot is _you_. It shows your location and this way, you'll never be lost again," I assured her. I noticed she was struggling not to show her awe and maybe an inkling of respect.

"Aw, that is so awesome, Gwenda," whistled one of Henrie's friends who I had given two decks of cards and a list of Earth card games like Rummy, Old Maid, Garbage, and Speed- my favorite card game.

"Where is Snape?" I asked, glancing around for said dark elf. "I'll hunt him down wherever he is. I have his gift." Most of the troupe members looked surprised I had gotten him a gift.

"What about...the Master of the Tower?" Tyrell asked, nervously glancing at Raistlin.

I smirked. "His present has a price…so will Dalamar's unless I see something beforehand."

Sure, it was blackmail, but it wasn't that bad. I had nearly killed myself to get their presents. All I wanted in return was a reaction, a simple facial expression. Apparently for Black Robes, that seemed to be on the impossible list unless it only applied to surly dark elves and the reclusive Majere.

Dalamar found his way to me easily; no one got in his way, no one dared. Luckily, he wasn't wearing his cowl. I handed his present to him with a mischievous smile, observing avidly. Like Sebastius, he gave me a super suspicious glance before slowly pulling the bow. The ribbon fell to the ground.

He picked up the scroll, dropping the box. Opening the scroll with elven disdain, the disdain disappeared when his brown eyes caught the title. I smiled as I saw his utterly blown away expression.

"Is this…" he demanded, glaring at me, not believing it was the real recipe.

"Where do you think I disappeared for two days?" I asked, crossing my arms and arching my eyebrows.

"B-but," he stammered, stunned. "That's impossible."

"Then tell me what is in your hand," I smirked and began playing 'It's You' from Kim Possible.

"You can do the things that can't be done (Kim Possible). You can win the fights that can't be won. When you're on a mission, you see it through 'cause it's a save the world thing that you do. And that's the way it has to be and it just comes so naturally. It's you, doing the impossible; it's you, you're practically unstoppable; it's you, totally untoppable. It's you, it's you, it's you."

Dalamar took a deep breath, massage the bridge of his nose near his eyes. I saw a slight, ironic smile before he forced his face to become emotionless. "Thank you," he said hoarsely, vanishing from the room.

I gave Raistlin an impish 'it's your turn' smile. The answer was a 'hell no' glare.

I shrugged and downed a large glass of water. After sleeping, I was insatiably hungry and thirsty. Since it didn't look like Raistlin was going to desire his present any time soon, I practiced walking…while hanging mistletoe above doorways and archways, cackling quietly to myself.

It was special mistletoe. It had been jinxed to trap two people of the opposite sex under it until their lips contacted in some manner, shape, or form. To prevent wizards trapped in it from escaping, there was a shield around the mistletoe that protected it from attacks outside and inside the two-foot cone shield that would surround the victims. To encourage kissing, the mistletoe played lewd and suggestive songs- songs such as 'Kiss the Girl' from the Little Mermaid, 'Bad Boy' by Cascada, 'Dirty Little Secret' by the All-American Rejects, and more. The day after Yule, the enchantment would wear off.

During my 'walk', I enchanted objects to play Christmas music from my iPod.

After the 'walk', to test if the enchantments worked, I played the first minute of 'Welcome to Duloc' from _Shrek_. The fruit of my success were several laughs and a few cries of dismay from those trapped beneath mistletoe. To avoid becoming a victim of the mistletoe, I made a point to stay in one room.

Troupe members began developing defenses against the mistletoe. One through a doorway at a time, but occasionally, a forgetful pair were caught.

The most memorable trapping under the mistletoe was Snape and Brienda. As the mistletoe played 'Breathless' by the Corrs, Dalamar was trying to teleport out but the mistletoe wouldn't allow it while Brienda was blushing brilliant red and banging on the shield. Finally, Severus roughly grabbed Brienda and kissed her before rushing from under the mistletoe.

Of course, after that, Dalamar made me give him one and he left. I knew he had gone off to his lover, Mistress Jenna. It was evening, after dinner, and a calm Yule party was going on. Being a nerd on Earth, and a plain freak on Krynn, I naturally stayed on the outskirts of the party. I sat on a couch, near the fire, minding my own business when...

I spotted Raistlin, probably still mad at me, coming at me from eleven o'clock (meaning twelve is in front you, eleven is to the left; one is the right).

"Oh boy."

* * *

AN: How is this for a Christmas present, huh? Obviously, I don't own any of the music in this chapter, iPod, etc., etc. Remember: beware of lurking mistletoe. 

Arigatou gozaimasu: thank you (polite)

Arigatou: thank you (casual)

Mejin: master


	22. Barbie Girl

I watched him approach warily, my hand moved to protect the Mary Poppins pouch that contained his present. Stupid move because he knew where it now was, yes, but Raistlin would probably filch it from me anyways. Still, to present him with a bit of a challenge, I stuffed the pouch in one of my new boots I had gotten as a gift.

"Why so tense, Ana?" Raistlin asked, sitting himself beside me. "Usually you don't seem to mind my presence."

I blushed, mentally cursing myself. I had chosen to sit close to the fire, the edge of the couch on my left. Raistlin had effectively boxed me in. Maybe the key to getting him away from me was to annoy him. He had a temper shorter than a bioterrorist's shortest fuse bomb. "Eleven words, twelve if you separate don't, _and_ you said my name. Have you been drinking?" I asked.

"Why do you ask?" Curses, instead of irritated, he was amused. I probably shouldn't have added the 'have you been drinking'.

I eyed him with feigned suspicion, although I smiled mischievously. "Since when does steel-mouthed, silver-tongued Raistlin Majere speak so much?"

"If a conversation is to take place, someone has to open their mouth. No, I have not been drinking," the Master of the Tower added. Uh oh, hinting of a conversation, most likely the one we had left unfinished.

I leaned one elbow on the cushy arm of the couch. "What are you on and why aren't you sharing?"

"What?" Raistlin was extremely amused. I guessed I wouldn't be getting rid of him any time soon. At this rate, the archmage would snitch the pouch from my boot in a heartbeat. Despite this concern, I found myself enjoying his company, his attention.

I gave him a pained look before ruining the look with a smile. "Must I repeat myself?"

"You seem to have guessed I came for an ulterior purpose. You know I have a question for you, a private question you presumed I would ask…the question you are afraid to answer because you are playing with your life," Raistlin said. I knew all of this and knew he knew too. How could he not? He was Raistlin Majere…and probably spied on my mind.

I kept my eyes on him, my silence the answer. After long moments, I shook my head. "It's not really playing with my life that worries me- for all I know, I could expire any second. It's depends on your experiences with the bizarre and length of believability. My story –even by wizard standards- would probably be passed off as a kender tale." I bit my bottom lip nervously, wondering if I would have to explain this very second. Where to start?

"Ana!"

Hearing my name called, I glanced over my shoulder and saw Darren, one of Henrie's jokester friends, waving at me. "Take off your jacket."

Those four words captured the attention of everyone. I rolled my eyes. "In your dreams and my nightmares."

"Please?"

"O-nay."

"Please with…a book on top?"

"Har har. _Nein_." Knowing Darren, it would probably be a one page book and both sides of the page would have a picture on it.

"Is that a no?"

This was getting irritating. "Yes."

Darren smirked. "Is that a yes?"

I knew how to avoid that verbal trap. "Bugger off," I told him with a grin, turning to stare at the fire.

I heard some jests and sporty laughs thrown at Darren. His hubris wounded, he became persistent. "What's so important about that teal, baggy potato sack?"

I glared at him. "Why is it so important for the potato to want to get in my sack?"

Most of the troupe burst out laughing. Darren, the butt of the joke, was bright red and stammering, "Th-that's not my intention."

"Sure it's not," I said, shifting my position seeing as this argument would be a long one. "But I can guarantee if I take off my jacket, some moron will comment on my boobs."

Henrie jumped in. "You have boobs?"

"And you people wonder _why_ I don't take it off," I sighed with disgust.

"What's wrong with taking it off?" Jillian, the third prankster, inquired.

This was quickly going to turn into an ugly verbal war. "What's wrong with keeping it on?"

"It's Yuletide, Ana. You must be hot beside that fire," Gwenda purred. "Take off your jacket."

I mentally sighed. The only way to rid myself of them all at once was a verbal blizzard. They were the 'in' crowd, trying to recruit me. They were, so to speak, in the kitchen, inviting me from the freezer with the other outcasts into their superficial, hyped world of lies, smoke, mirrors, and illusion. They were the homeland and I was the outcast.

"The day I take off my jacket is the day the Master of the Tower turns his home into an inn and gives his staff away to a gully dwarf," I stated, crossing my arms defensively.

"Why _won't_ you take it off? Just tell us that," Darren yielded…temporarily.

"After my jacket, you'll want me to change my clothes. Next to go will be my hairstyle, and then my speech, attitude, personality…body…and finally, sell my soul. You want me to be a Barbie girl. Because I'm different you despise me," I smiled crookedly. "You're not the first to try this and yet I remain the same."

"We don't want you to sell your soul to us," Jillian snorted.

I rolled my eyes. "Oh no, you just want my body…and my jacket…and my outer beauty to shine…and me to act like a air headed butterfly flitting over a field of flowers on a warm sunny day…Um, no. Not for you."

Henrie opened his mouth, but I beat him with a glare. "Shut up, Henrie, or I will seriously consider eating you." Despite arched eyebrows and giggles, he kept his trap closed. The troupe had seen me devour nearly as much food as the kender in the Players of Gilean. I say nearly because it turned out some of the food wasn't cooked thoroughly. You can guess what I spent the afternoon doing.

They gave up, making me the silent victor of round one. I didn't enjoy it, rather I lost myself in the fire, thoughts brewing and bubbling sourly. A touch on my shoulder woke me from the darkness of my mind; I gazed curiously as a quiet question to Raistlin, who had touched me.

"Barbie girl?" he asked quietly.

The Christmas music playing came to a crashing halt and the enchanted objects began obnoxiously serenading, "I'm a Barbie girl in the Barbie world. Life in plastic; it's fantastic. You can brush my hair, undress me everywhere. Imagination: life is your creation."

"Come on Barbie, let's go party," Ken's voice sang.

"I'm a Barbie girl in the Barbie world. Life in plastic; it's fantastic. You can brush my hair, undress me everywhere. Imagination: life is your creation," sang Barbie, "I'm a blond bimbo girl in the fantasy world. Dress me up, make it tight, I'm your dolly."

"You're my doll, rock'n'roll, feel the glamour in pink. Kiss me here, touch me there, hanky panky…" Ken chanted.

"You can touch, you can play, if you say: I'm always yours (uu-oooh-u). I'm a Barbie girl in the Barbie world. Life in plastic; it's fantastic. You can brush my hair, undress me everywhere. Imagination: life is your creation."

"Come on Barbie, let's go party!" Ken invited musically four times while, in the background, Barbie sang 'ooh' and 'ah's.

In a mock imitation of Barbie, I began lip-singing since I knew the song by heart. Hey, knowing the enemy is half the battle. I faced Raistlin as I strut, "Make me walk, make me talk, do whatever you please. I can act like a star" –I struck a pose- "I can beg on my knees" –I did, clasping my hands before sitting back on the couch.

Ken began his short solo. "Come jump in, bimbo friend, let us do it again: hit the town, fool around, let's go party."

I clung onto Raistlin's arm in mock desperation, mouthing, "You can touch, you can play, if you say: I'm always yours. You can touch, you can play, if you say: I'm always yours."

"Come on Barbie, let's go party!" Ken invited again four times while Barbie sang 'ooh' and 'ah's.

I pointed at myself with the fakest, widest smile. "I'm a Barbie girl in the Barbie world. Life in plastic; it's fantastic." –I gave a thumbs up- "You can brush my hair, undress me everywhere." –insert mock tease stripping (I only unzipped my jacket a little)- Imagination: life is your creation." I winked suggestively at Raistlin.

I repeated this as the chorus repeated and Ken's "come on Barbie, let's go party" thing played one last time.

I impulsively grabbed Raistlin's hand and mimicked as Barbie said, "Oh, I'm having so much fun!"

"Well Barbie, we're just getting started," Ken remarked.

I glomped Raistlin, mouthing, "Oh, I love you Ken!" But, you see, when you try to glomp someone while sitting, the effect is more like tackling their side while wrapping your arms around them in an attempted embrace. The Christmas music continued casually after the scary song ended.

Sitting up and squishing myself against the arm of the couch, beet-red, I coughed, "That is what they want me to become."

Raistlin was preoccupied with straightening his robes and pulling his cowl lower over his face while he clearing his throat. I took the opportunity to escape and grab my twelfth cookie…yes, the cookies had me hyped on sugar which is why I began acting out the song. Five brownie points for hugging Raistlin. Yes, I hugged him; so sue me.

I snatched a molasses cookie –the best cookies in the world on Christmas- and nibbled at it like a squirrel. Weird, yes, but you savored the taste…the cookie lasted longer too. My left and right sides were flanked by the jokester gang.

"If we give you something, will you take off the jacket?" Jillian asked.

_Let's see them cope against Monty Python! _"I want…" I paused for dramatic effect, "a shrubbery!"

Darren arched his eyebrows. "A _shrubbery_?"

"Ni!" I said, exiting while they were still bamboozled. A hand grabbed my forearm, whirling me around.

"What would I have to do for you to take your jacket?" inquired Darren.

More Monty Python. "Cut down a mighty vallenwood tree with a herring," I smiled, making my way toward the drinks. Judging by his worsening coughing, Raistlin sounded as if he could use a drink. My gaze swept over the beverages. Water or wine? What choices. I checked to see that no one was around me; quietly casting a spell, I grabbed the drinks. Someone might try to pull the old 'accidental' spilling technique.

I was right.

Shaunacy 'accidentally' tripped on the edge of the rug, falling forward. I leapt aside, my own drinks in the air. The rug soaked in the wine from Shaunacy's glass.

"Oi, Master, do you mind if Shaunacy used your rug as a rag?" I asked loudly, stepping around her as she paled.

"I do." The archmage strode around the couch and gestured toward the stained rug. "Apprentice, escort Shaunacy with the rug to the kitchen immediately and teach her how to correctly clean it."

Dalamar was back? Oh, he must've come back without my notice. "Yes, _Shalafi_," the dark elf nodded; they vanished.

"Wine or water?" I asked Raistlin, holding out both cups. He took the water and retreated back to the couch. Shrugging, I retraced my steps to the beverage table, grabbing a water and downing it. I nimbly dodged three attempts at my jacket on the way back to the couch. _Jeez, these people. They're so obvious it's a wonder why they're trying to be subtle! _

"That smells like acid," I commented with a wrinkled nose, sitting beside Raistlin again. I guessed he had boiled the water with a spell and added the ingredients.

He grimaced. "It tastes worse."

"I'll take your word for it. Sometimes, if it smells nasty, it tastes nasty- like coffee. Ugh! The fragrance alone will drive me from a room. How about you? Do you care for coffee?" I asked, draping a blanket over my lap. I offered some of the blanket to Raistlin, who shook his head.

"Not particularly," he remarked, able to speak clearer. "I prefer tea."

I smiled. "The normal kind when you can, I assume?" He nodded. I went on, smile growing. "You know what they say: tea and mints can cure any illness. Everything else can be solved with chocolate, duct tape, or by running it over." I thought I heard Raistlin chuckle or he was clearing his throat.

"Everything, including an ulcer?" he remarked dryly. "Or an unanswered question?"

Curses, foiled again. The sneak was manipulating the conversation back to the one we said to continue.

'_How did you know about the Test? Did Caramon tell you when he was drunk?'_

_No._ When you have a voice in your head, it's difficult not to make facial expressions or gestures to someone who isn't there. I had almost said 'no' outloud. My tactic was to look half-asleep while gazing into the fire, seeing and not-seeing.

'_Tell me how you knew! Did Par-Salian send you?'_

One part of my mind wondered audibly, _I don't remember meeting Par-Salian_, while another awkwardly stammered, _Uh…this is complicated. You'd commit me to a mad house. _

The predictable answer was, _'Try me.' _

_Uhm…how to explain this? Where to begin? Ugh, whatever. I'm not of Krynn, okay. I don't belong in this…dimension, on this planet…or wherever I am. I was born and grew up on a planet known as Earth in the Milky Way galaxy; my planet is the third or fourth planet from the sun. _

_To give a little background, Earth is super boring: there is no magic, no wizards (shame), no elves, no minotaurs, no dwarves, no kender, no nothing…except humans. Supposedly, our planet is has no god, but I can't be sure. The air is so polluted that the horizon is gray and when the sun sets, it's orange-ish. We're humans with gnomish minds: we thrive on technology, hence this. _

I took out my second generation, red iPod shuffle, showing it to Raistlin. _This is called an iPod, one of the more well known devices of the twentieth century. It stores music like a human body stores fat. On Earth, technology and stuff like this is mass-produced. In fact, we humans are advancing so quickly, our planet can't keep up; it's dying. _

I slid my iPod back into my pocket. _We're smart but not smart enough to save ourselves. No, I haven't been sent to see if we can invade your planet. In fact, I don't know how I got here. I just woke up in a cell under a mountain near Kendermore as a prisoner of draconians. I was fully human then. _

_The draconians were experimenting if they could create a mutant, flying army with extraordinary magical abilities. I had injections of a bronze dragon's blood strengthened with magic of Nuitari in my veins. On the zenith of the black moon, my back was sliced open and griffon wings were grafted into me. They thought I died and left me in a forest. The kender saved me; I got better, found my way to the Players of Gilean and joined them. _

_That's pretty much everything important or exciting, unless you discount the Solace incident where I was named as your Daughter. Told you it's like a kender tale._

Raistlin was impassive in thought and expression. I could get nothing from his body language either: he just sat there, his fingers picking at the velvet slowly. If he were a book, he would be unreadable and not a very good book at all.

Sighing, I took out my iPod more discreetly, threading the wire up my jacket. I placed the ear pieces in my ears, covering my ears with my hair. I closed my mind off, listening to 'Boulevard of Broken Dreams' by Green Day. Raistlin pulled me into his side, borrowing an ear piece in the process.

"I walk a lonely road, the only one that I have ever known. Don't know where it does, but it's home to me and I walk alone. I walk this empty street on the Boulevard of Broken Dreams where the city sleeps and I'm the only one and I walk alone. I walk alone, I walk alone, I walk alone, I walk a…"

Pausing the song, I said, "This song applies to us. If you would like, after this one, I could play others."

"My shadow's the only one that walks beside me. My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating. Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me 'til then I walk alone. Ah-ah, ah-ah, ah-ah, ah-ah, ah-ah, ah-ah, ah-ah. I'm walking down the line that divides me somewhere in my mind on the borderline of the edge and where I walk alone."

Raistlin absently twirled strands of my hair around his long, spidery golden fingers.

"Read between the lines; what's fucked up and everything's alright. Check my vital signs to know I'm still alive and I walk alone. I walk alone, I walk alone, I walk alone, I walk a… My shadow's the only one that walks beside me. My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating. Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me 'til then I walk alone. Ah-ah, ah-ah, ah-ah, ah-ah, ah-ah, ah-ah, ah-ah. I walk alone, I walk a…

"I walk this empty street on the Boulevard of Broken Dreams where the city sleeps and I'm the only one and I walk a… My shadow's the only one that walks beside me. My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating. Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me 'til then I walk alone."

"You know more about Krynn than you reveal, more about me if you know how appropriate this song fits my past," Raistlin whispered, golden hourglass eyes fixed on me.

I blushed. "Fine, I read an autobiography of sorts on you and your friends. You guys are awesome. I'm sure the other fans on Earth would agree with me."

"We have fans on your planet?" He seemed genuinely surprised.

"Even you do," I smiled.

"I suspect you are one of them?" he smirked.

I fiddled with the iPod in my hands, flushing. "You could say that, but not one of the crazy or obsessive ones- the rabid fangirls...or even some fanboys."

He pinched my cheek, teasing, "Are you embarrassed, Ana?" I squeaked something incoherent, ducking my face into his robes.

Raistlin leapt at every opportunity to tease me because I was his idol. To surprise and irritate him, I told him Tas was my second favorite simply because he was a kender. His reply was I had bad taste in idols, with the exception of him of course; I laughed. We amused each other with sarcastic jokes, debated philosophy, spoke of deep and dark matters, and enjoyed the other's company. We were currently on the mysteries of life.

"Sometimes I wonder why we were created. To amuse, to be toyed with, to be hurt, to serve as lab rats…" I mused. "The world is evil. The good wither and the dark are exalted. Are there others in alternate universes, dimensions, or planets who wonder the same thing?"

"Yes. I believe we are the only ones awake," Raistlin commented. It was true. The fire had gone low, there was no more chatter which had become background noise to me, the Christmas music had died down to silence, and for the first time I noticed my throbbing headache and tired eyes. "We should go to bed."

"Are you crazy?" I yawned, leaning my head against him. "What's wrong with sleeping sitting like this? We're comfortable, warm, drowsy, not to mention nearby a fire within poking range, and a table of semi-decent food and beverages behind us."

"I thought you would fall asleep eventually during our conversation as it got late," Raistlin sighed, stretching slightly and pulling the covers over himself.

"You wish," I said, shutting my eyes, "I can stay awake until one o'clock easily, even longer if I'm on the computer. On Earth, the sun really has no meaning anymore. It just reminds us when mealtimes are and keeps the vegetation alive. We have created devices that light up and stay that way for hours on end."

Raistlin wrapped an arm around my shoulder. "Are we going to listen to those songs you suggested?"

"Only if you wish to cry to sleep," I murmured, drowsier and drowsier. The archmage's skin burned with the gods' wrath. The powerful aroma of spices, rose petals, death, and decay lulled me further into sleep. His strong heartbeat drummed in my left ear. "I'll play them for you tomorrow when the mood isn't so cheerful. Good night, Raistlin."

"Hn," he grunted, the side of his head leaning on top of mine.

"Merry Yuletide," I whispered before falling asleep, but not before I heard him grumble, "Bah humbug."

* * *

AN: I don't own: the song _Barbie Girl_ by Aqua, _Boulevard of Broken Dreams_ by Green Day, Mary Poppins, Monty Python and the Holy Grail, the beloved iPod, etc. 


	23. Paying the Price in Blood

AN: My apologies for being away so long, but I've been bouncing between being grounded and being busy with relatives visiting. -.-' Anyway, I have an idea for a new story. I'll see how it plays out and if all goes well, the new story will be posted soon after this one. Disclaimer: I don't own: Jaws, iPod, depressing quotes, or _Romeo and Juliet_ which belongs to Shakespeare, etc.

* * *

You know how writers describe the warm fuzzy feeling of being half-asleep yet half-awake by writing 'couldn't tell where I began and the covers ended'? It felt like that. Ah, what an excellent night of deep sleep it had been. I was surprised my neck didn't ache from being craned to the left all night. 

Even more astonishing was when I sat up, discovering I was in a bed- _not_ where I had fallen asleep the night before.

Raistlin sat at the foot of the bed, staring at me. Something was different about him. I cocked my head. _Ugh! I know something is different about him but my sleep-fogged brain won't tell me! I think…he doesn't have the Staff of Magius in his hand; it's leaning against the bed, nearby. _

"You set me up to fail," Raistlin whispered, standing.

"Huh?" I gave him an utterly clueless expression. It was too early for this nonsense.

He slowly made his way closer, reminding me of the music played in Jaws. I got quite panicky when he sat beside me and leaned forward. Staying frozen in place, I waited, wondering what was going on in that head of his. He graced my forehead with a gentle kiss.

"Thank you," he whispered softly. His hood was still up, but I could hear the gratefulness in his voice, the smile.

It made me smile too. "You're welcome," I replied happily.

He sat back. For the first time, I noticed the crimson color of the sheets and flimsy curtains shrouded the bed except on the side Raistlin sat. "A curious thought struck me last night, one I had been meaning to ask. What does your iPod run on?" He hadn't hesitated to say iPod, just spoken it like an Earth-ian.

"It runs on electricity, but since computers and electricity are who knows how far away, I have to conserve the battery. I have a spell to recharge it, although it's potentially dangerous to my Shuffle," I shrugged. "Did the figurine play the songs you wanted to hear last night?"

"Yes," he answered.

One of my gifts had been a figurine was a pale figure standing before a gnarled tree. The figurine wore long, billowing gray robes that were shredded at the hems; it had white hair and a sad face. An invisible wind swept behind the figure, blowing the depressingly gray robes. It was a sign of suffering and sadness- something that haunted both Raistlin's and my own past.

Raistlin said something else I hadn't anticipated. His fingers touched my smiling lips. "This smile is but a shadow of what it used to be. What snuffed the light?" He asked quietly.

My smile faded to a rarely-seen frown that matched the figurine's. "What happened to _you_ at school?" I responded as quietly with pain, sadness, and bitterness in my voice. School had been a nightmare for both of us: a haven of bullies, a nightmare of name-calling and aches that would never heal properly; the experiences had shaped us to who we were today.

It was another thing we had in common, but instead of brewing in revenge and becoming unforgiving like Raistlin, I had drowned in my sadness where it still gnawed at my soul. If I told the Players of Gilean that I was depressed, they all would ask if I were joking. _Smile- it hides everything._

"Why do you smile?" I knew I would start crying whether I answered or not. It was the answer that made me cry; it was why I kept living although it wasn't a very good reason.

"'I want to be remembered as the girl who always smiles even when her heart is broken'," I quoted, two tears running down each cheek, "' and the one that could always brighten up your day…even if she couldn't brighten her own.'" It was bitter, but true. This was me.

Raistlin wiped where the tears had gone down on either side of my face with his blood-stained handkerchief.

I never wanted anyone to see my cry, even those closest to me. That is why my eyes stopped watering after two or three more tears, but the sad-bitter expression never left. I glared at the blood-crimson sheets. "I could recite other depressing sayings with ease. I searched and memorized them." My voice was hard.

"Did you memorize them to hurt yourself?" Raistlin gathered me close.

"No. People ask 'how are you' and 'how do you feel'. Others wrote how it feels and if I can relate, I keep it as remembrance, for a reminder. But, just like another: 'You asked what was wrong and I smiled and said '_nothing_'; then I turned around and whispered '_everything_.'"

Raistlin didn't let go. "I can tell you cry yourself to sleep often. Don't hold back because you're embarrassed. 'Sometimes we must get hurt in order to grow, we must fall in order to know.'" -I joined him- "'Sometimes our visions clear only after our eyes are washed away with tears.'"

"Are you sure you want to sit there for five or six hours?" I asked dryly.

The archmage snorted. "Bah, you can cry for eternity."

"'Come weep with me, past hope, past cure, past help!'" I quoted from _Romeo and Juliet_, tearing up. Raistlin kept silent for the two hours I silently shed tears, an occasional unearthly sob escaping from me. I remembered that in the future he would do this for his nephew, Palin.

* * *

"Thanks," I murmured two hours later. I didn't object as Raistlin dabbed my face again with the blood-stained handkerchief. 

"You're welcome." I couldn't help noticing the large and attractive tear stained area on his shoulder. I looked away, giggling slightly. "I'm giving these robes to you. They are of no use to me now, covered in snot and tears," Raistlin added irritably. I said thank you again, rewarding him a shy hug.

I caught a flash of my reflection, passing a mirror. To my surprise, I had red trail marks where the tears had gone down. Other than that, there was no visible sign of my fit: no puffy, red eyes or nose, no watery eyes. My face was paler, making my lips dark magenta and my auburn hair seem darker, but that was it.

I scowled at Raistlin's reflection in the mirror as he –after seeing my shock- shook while covering his mouth, chortling to himself. "You really are a piece of work, you little twerp. I know you were dying to see how long it would take me to notice. I should spork you or something."

His chuckling rapidly transformed into a coughing fit. I bit my lip, holding my breath until it was over. "You sound like you have a weak trachea," I told him, "and some of your air sacs are bleeding."

Raistlin wheezed heavily, gazing at me curiously. _'Show me.' _He grasped my hand, leading out of the room, up the stairs until we reached a room I recognized, a room where tons of drama would unfold, a room where the future of Krynn would rest: Raistlin's Laboratory.

He spoke a word of magic and the door yielded. It shut after us. The description of the room was accurate: night blue spellbooks of Fistandantilus's, spellbooks of Raistlin's, jars with organs and body parts floating in sickly fluids, a wonky skeleton hanging from the ceiling.

"Sick," I whispered, both filled with disgust and awe. I had seen many horror movies, seen people shot before my eyes, watched gory action movies, but the real thing was…unnerving.

Raistlin released my wrist, limping to a cabinet where, with a wave of his hand, it opened and a fresh-looking corpse gazed at us. I swallowed dryly as it floated onto a large table where I had read was where he created Live Ones in failed attempts to create life. With a flick of the wrist and a flash of silver, Raistlin was cutting open the chest with as much care as a mortician.

I forced myself to watch, reminding myself over and over that I had seen people eaten by aliens, people decapitated, people hung, and worse on T.V. Raistlin glanced at me once to see what I was doing; I could guess my face was pale with a hint of green.

The black robe began explaining as he opened the chest flaps he had cut. _'I see you are able to watch. This isn't the first time you've seen something like this, but the first time you are experiencing it. On your planet, I assume they are medically advanced. You know something of the body.'_

I nodded, paralyzed with shock at the apathetic, lack of emotion. Raistlin seemed to know this because he dragged me to the side of the table and gestured. _'The table is yours.' _I could hear the sarcastic respect in his voice.

Rolling my eyes and taking a deep breath, I found the juicy-looking lungs. Raistlin handed me a pair of gloves, slipping on his own. I poked a lung, tracing it to the bronchi, up the trachea, to the larynx where the neck hadn't been hacked at. After another calming breath, I found the courage to say, "I'm guessing that your trachea and bronchi are easily susceptible to croup…uh, bronchitis, and pneumonia because when you cough it sounds deep and watery." My nerves began to get the better of me and I took a moment to calm down.

"I would say it was one of those, except you cough up blood which means something wacky and usually fatal," I continued. "We'll have to…cut open the lungs." Staring at down sickly, I could see the blue veins and red arteries with the ribs protecting the lungs.

"Go outside for a moment," Raistlin suggested, giving me a gentle push.

I did quickly. I paced outside the door, taking many deep breaths which turned into hyperventilating. I felt like I was going to be violently sick forever. My stomach knotted, twisting and clenching coldly while my throat kept up the act that it was dry as the Sahara. Staring at my hands, they trembled uncontrollably. _I_ trembled uncontrollably.

My mind fared no better from the experience either. My eyes demanded that they be allowed to water. My stomach heatedly requested emptying its contents while my bowels suggested the same thing. As my throat tightened, my eyes begged to hop from their sockets and flee. My brain denied all of them, stubborn and prideful.

Raistlin came out, and a scene from _Sleepy Hollow_ came to mind: blood splattered on Icabod Crane's face and clothing. "Are you the master of yourself?" he asked.

I opened my mouth to reply- and burped. Supremely humiliated, I giggled, ducking my head while covering my mouth. When I was super anxious, I tended to swallow air on accident which upset my stomach, inducing nausea. Burping was something I avoided as much as vomiting. To prove the point, I burped twice more.

"I'll take that as a no," Raistlin remarked dryly. I gave his shoulder a playful shove, still giggling. I trailed him into the laboratory, but the corpse had lost its ribs and the top halves of the lungs had been loped off. I picked up what resembled dead coral.

"Whoa," I said, turning it delicately, unable to decide whether I was disgusted or fascinated.

"Well?"

"See this little bubble things at the ends of the branches? Those are air sacs. I believe you have some of those punctured in each lung." I turned to Raistlin. "Not enough to kill you quickly necessarily…unless you stopped coughing; then, your lungs would brim over with blood and you'd drown in your own blood. How does that sound?"

"Lovely," the archmage whispered dryly. Removing his gloves, the Master of the Tower observed me slipping off my own gloves before putting a hand on my shoulder. "Thank you."

* * *

My skin prickled. I shrugged the eerie sensation off with a convulsive shudder, continuing my attack on the biscuit. Strangely, even after seeing the insides of a human, my stomach could manage to down food. But my insanely high metabolism demanded I eat. 

Again, my hackles raised and goose bumps broke out all over my skin.

Irritated, I shivered again and finished the biscuit. Why did I have the feeling I _needed_ to be somewhere, somewhere important?

Frowning, I stood and ambled aimlessly around the room the troupe was camped. While Henrie and I had been gone, the Players of Gilean had performed without us; we would leave tomorrow. Tonight would be the zenith of the black moon, Nuitari, which I could see because _his_ was the magic that burned in my veins, binding the other blood.

Lost in thought, I mused all that had happened and wondered if I ever could get to Earth. How much time had passed since I had been gone? Would I be accepted with the wings? Would the government experiment on me?

I walked into a wooden door.

"Ow. Stupid-" I grumbled about doors as I gently rubbed my nose and forehead- the parts of my body that had smacked into the wood. Taking a step back, I peered curiously at the rune, a magical rune. Wizards respect one another and knock before going into a room, therefore, don't lock their doors-

I tried to open the door which didn't budge.

-with normal locks.

After several unlock spells for wizard locks, one yielded a satisfying click. Why had I come here? The something that was raising my hackles had brought me here. Creaking open the door slightly, I peeped in and discovered no one was home. No one_ human_.

On the floor were…somethings. They weren't human, certainly not animal, but living. The things made strange sounds, some that were alien even to me. Venturing in, I leaned with my back pressed against the door, feeling ill again. The most common body parts all of the things had were eyes, hair, limbs, mouths, and ears.

The chamber itself was entirely of stone with a pool containing brackish water at the far end. An ethereal blue flame hovered, unwavering, over the still waters. Terrible comprehension came to me.

These were the Live Ones.

I was in the Chamber of Seeing.

By now, I had gained the attention of all Live Ones. We stared at each other in silence for long moments; even the bleating and strange sounds had stopped.

"Eep," I squeaked, unable to stand it any longer and began tiptoeing past them. My feet landed where my eyes spotted stone and in my haste, I nearly fell into the Pool of Seeing. My booted foot splashed into the water- the only sound. This triggered the Live Ones to make their strange sounds again. I had heard things happened to Live Ones who swam in the Pool, but –after jerking my boot out- my shoe was undamaged.

I heard my name. Not 'Ana' out loud, but in my mind. The voice used my _true_, Earth name, not the clever pseudonym I concocted for the people of Krynn to know me by which was Ana.

"_I know what you seek. I can show you the way,"_ it said.

_Name your price. _

"_Why do you believe there is a price?"_

I was miffed, yet suspicious. _You can't get something from nothing. There has to be an equivalent exchange…Is there something I can offer for your knowledge? For you to show me?_

There was a soft chuckle. _"You anticipate me, mortal. Indeed you would be worthy to be the child of Raistlin. Yes, there is a price…Magic always has a heavy price. Are you willing to pay?"_

_Are you a god?_

"_Yes. You hear me because I am already inside you- in your blood."_

_Ugh. Hello Nuitari. How can I trust that you, a god of darkness, will uphold your end of the bargain, eh?_

"_You can't," _he answered simply. _"I am representing my siblings because they cannot interfere on my territory."_

_So...what's the plan?_

"_Give me your wings and the bronze dragon's blood as payment for the journey home. The pain will be you're due to me for revealing the knowledge. Step into the Pool of Seeing."_

I did so slowly and cautiously, wondering if the enchanted water would burn my skin. I didn't have to ask 'what now' before I received my next instructions. _"Touch the flame." _The water lapped my knees, then mid thigh as I reached the flame. I spent five minutes wondering whether to touch the flame with a finger or my entire hand; finally, irritated, I thrust my hand with my eyes shut.

A hand grasped mine and pulled. It yanked me through the corridors of magic until I felt ground under my feet.

I warily cracked open an eye and glanced at my hand to see who was holding it. A muscular man who reminded me of Caramon but wore white robes with silver lining smiled down at me. It took a bit before it clicked.

"Solinari!" I bowed to him with a smile. Seeing red out of the corner of my eyes, I turned and bowed twice again-smile remaining. "Lunitari. Nuitari."

Lunitari watched with a small smile. She took the form of a red-headed woman in blood-crimson robes with pale skin, deep maroon eyes. Nuitari was Nuitari: moon face, no eyelids, utterly black eyes, cowl up, and black, black black. The only skin that showed from him was his white bony hands which appeared disembodied from the rest of his body.

"You should feel honored, Ana. You are the first _live_ human in the Abyss in ages," Nuitari commented.

I offered a nervous smile. "Let's hope I stay that way."

"What are you doing on Krynn?" asked Lunitari.

I shrugged. "Admiring the scenery? I don't remember how I got here...or why."

"From what you told the Master of the Tower, Earth is non-magical and only inhabited by humans," the god of black magic remarked. "How could she use magic to reach Krynn?"

_That conversation was private, you twit, _I thought sourly, earning two quirking smiles from Lunitari and Solinari and one sour glare from Nuitari. "Could you please discuss this _after_ I'm home?" I asked patiently, feeling rather impatient. "Maybe one of the other gods was goofing off and did something…or could it have been the Graygem?"

"You know about the Graygem?" It was Solinari who spoke.

I shot them all an 'of course!' look. "I know about the Graygem and the Cataclysm…the Kingpriest, Fistandantilus…I know a lot…probably a lot I'm not supposed to."

"That is true," Solinari nodded, meeting his siblings' glances.

"Could she be a demigod?" Lunitari pushed a lock of fiery hair behind her ear. "One unaware of her powers?"

"The longer she stays the more of a nuisance she becomes. Even with the gleam of knowledge this mortal has shown us, it could prove fatal to us especially in the hands of Raistlin Majere!" Nuitari glowered at his siblings. "We should send her away before he becomes aware of what lies in that skull."

"When are you collecting your payment?" I asked, carefully watching their faces. Apparently, they were used to keeping their facial expressions controlled.

"Now," answered Nuitari emotionlessly.

I blinked. Solinari and Lunitari were grasping my arms and each stepping on one of my feet. I began taking deep breaths to add more oxygen to my lungs.

"Unfurl your wings," commanded Nuitari, who stood behind me.

Shutting my eyes and gritting my teeth, I obeyed and braced myself for the pain. I let out a quiet, compressed "urk" and twitched as Nuitari's hands grabbed my wings near where they had been grafted into my back. He began tugging. I pressed my lips together and screamed, tears coming to my eyes.

I felt each nerve, each strand, each fiber where the wings had been grafted come undone in the god's merciless yanking. I could hear the tearing of my flesh and the griffon wings. Solinari and Lunitari magicked my body still, faces grim. I shrieked and tried to fight them, but was no match for the two gods.

It seemed an eternity before I heard the wings tear and felt them leave my body.

Now the gods of good and neutral magic were holding me up.

"Prepare for the blood to be drawn."

* * *

AN: Hope you enjoyed it. : ) My grandma drove from Massachusetts and is staying for a week- a warning that I might not update for a while. 


	24. Impending Fate, or One Day

"What are you doing?"

The three moon gods and goddess turned to see Paladine and Mishakal looming behind them. Solinari turned whiter –if that's possible- at seeing both of his parents, paling at their anger.

Nuitari stepped forward first. "This mortal is not of Krynn and a deadly threat to this world if she stays here. Touch her mind, see her memories. You will find the knowledge to corrupt Krynn within a century with technology and science alone."

"But what have you done to her?" Mishakal gasped, horrified at the sight of the frail mortal and her back oozing sappy blood through ugly, forming scabs. "She is nearly dead." When the healing goddess picked up the young woman, the marks where the knife had gouged out her wings were white, spidery scars. All other physical wounds, including pimples, healed and vanished.

Paladine glanced at the mysterious female mortal who was at the most awkward stage of her short life- too old to be a child, too young to be a woman. In a blink the god had seen what Nuitari had described and his face became grim. Mishakal too had delved through the memories.

"We, the keepers of magic, have decided to send this mortal back to her crazy, loud world, Earth," Lunitari informed the god and goddess of light, stepping up beside her darker brother.

"If you would or would not help us matters little," Solinari said, moving to the sides of his siblings. "But the assistance would be appreciated all the same. We have located her planet and plan to send her back tomorrow."

"Tomorrow is when my moon is at its zenith," Nuitari explained drably. "In the mutant experiment she was injected with black magic, the blood of a bronze dragon, and some blood of a griffon when the wings were melded to her back. I have removed the wings and blood, but my magic runs through her veins."

"Why your magic, Nuitari?" Paladine inquired suspiciously.

"Earth is ruled by evil."

Lunitari picked up the scheme explaining. "Tomorrow, when the black moon's magic peaks, all three of us will lend Ana enough power to return to Earth. I doubt any deity, if there is one, will be pleased with our interference so we must be swift."

"A Tower of High Sorcery before the Cataclysm was destroyed when all three of the orders called upon the moons they served," Mishakal frowned severely at the offspring, one of them her own. "They directed the power to a select mage who would use the magic to implode the Tower, but any mage with the power of all the moons is fated to certain death. Are you trying to kill her?"

"She has survived close scrapes with death before," Nuitari said unsympathetically.

"To ensure Ana's survival, we will assist in what ways we can," Paladine told the siblings. "Are you going to inform her of this plot?"

"If she wakes before tomorrow." Lunitari rolled her eyes.

* * *

I entered the room the troupe would be staying in until tomorrow. _Tomorrow…everything important is happening tomorrow…_I thought glumly, _I'm going back to Earth and the troupe is leaving the Tower tomorrow_. People turned and began asking questions like, "Where have you been?" and "Why did you vanish?" but I couldn't hear them. I was too withdrawn into myself to hear their concern. 

Leaving sucked so badly. Krynn was unpolluted, pure, had gods that interacted with their worshippers, the variety of races and species was fantastic, and the magic. Earth…no magic, polluted, perverted, dying, and populated by one race- humans, mostly twisted ones it felt.

I shut myself within the wagon I shared with my enemies, huddling in the corner, just staring listlessly at the wood. My heart overflowed with so much pain I wanted to remove it from my chest and hurl it far away. The situation itself…overwhelming. I had attached myself, despite the crap I'd been through, and I didn't want to leave.

My eyes wandered to my hand as I held it up, seeing it and not. These hands…these hands would perform the spell that would take me home. An invisible puppeteer had trapped my soul, forcing me to watch as a prisoner while the master controlled my body. _So overwhelming…_

"This is surreal," I said to myself, or should I say the puppet master spoke my thoughts. I buried my face in my hands and heaved an extensive, deep sigh. My blood tingled and itched and burned as the black moon's power waxed. It hurt, but not as much as my heart.

Krynn or Earth?

My fantasy 'dream-come-true' world or the planet I had been born to?

The more I thought about it, the more it sucked. At the edge of my consciousness, I absently noted people piling into the wagon. They all frowned and their lips moved, but no sound fell from them. I saw Tyrell, the dwarf, and stared at him sadly. _A dwarf…I'll never see one of those again. _I saw three elves, a gnome, two kender, another dwarf, and a minotaur and an ogre peeping through the window.

_I'll never see these species again, never ever _ever

My eyes began to water and sound flooded my ears.

"She's starting to cry!" exclaimed a kender in alarm.

"Why is she crying? What did you say?" demanded a dwarf, rounding on the kender.

"I didn't say anything," he protested shrilly as people flipped out, unsure of what to do. Some looked around wildly for advice on what to do, others shifted feet, many bit their lips, and a few ran from the wagon for advice on what to do…probably running to Sebastius.

Hands patted my shoulders and head, concerned voices asked, "How can we help? What's wrong? How can we help? What's wrong?"

When I spoke, I chose my words carefully, "It's not that I don't_ want_ your help…it's just you _can't_ help." There were protests and talks of me being too prideful and what humility was.

I envisioned a dark cloud hovering over my head, crackling lightning and thunder within itself. The cloud would be visual symbolism of my boiling inner conflict. My comforters backed away as a miniature storm formed above my head, warning of its presence with thunder and lightning worthy of a normal-sized thunderstorm. At that moment Sebastius entered.

He immediately came over to my side ignoring the thunderstorm and knelt down, putting a huge hand on my shoulder. His deep blue eyes bored into my disheartened ones. The troupe master told everyone to leave the wagon and finish packing.

Sebastius turned back to me. "When you have been with us, you are an amazing, resourceful, kind young woman. You have every qualification to be a great leader one day. I wish you luck and hope you stay as you are- the world needs more people like you."

"I'm torn between leaving and staying," I whispered, "between where I want to be and where I belong…I know what I need to do…I just don't want to do it."

"I believe you'll accomplish it when the time comes," Sebastius encouraged, sitting under the growling, iron-clad clouds. "I know you." The hovering omen of self-proclaimed symbolism quieted, becoming a light shade of pewter, no longer thundering as vociferously.

"Even though no one likes being lectured to, I'm glad it rips the veil away from the eyes," I sighed with a wry smile at my ex-leader. Rolling up my sleeve, there was no hint of the black lotus tattoo.

"It's been gone for some time," he commented casually and my jaw dropped.

"Seriously?!"

"Quite."

"No wonder it didn't itch like mad!" I exclaimed with a laugh while rolling down my sleeve as the cloud altered to a quicksilver, shrinking. We spoke until someone shouted that lunch was served, adding a humorous comment about porkers and my appetite. I, of course, stuck my head out the wagon's window and retorted in a way that pissed off the crier, beginning a battle of wits and sharp tongues which degenerated to name-calling.

"Pig!"

"Hog!"

"Cake sniffer," he jeered.

"Fart knocker!" I sneered back and the dark elf –one in our troupe- did a double take.

"Fart knocker?" he repeated incredulously, enmity forgotten, and shortly burst out laughing so hard he could barely support himself. Those who had heard (meaning everyone) joined in the merry chortling. After the meal, I tucked myself away in a hiding place within the Tower of High Sorcery and placed a sleep spell on myself as Nuitari had instructed.

During my restive slumber, my mind and rest would be protected by the god of black magic as my magical powers grew with the impending pinnacle of his moon. By then, the troupe would have been expelled from the Tower and hopefully, the Black Robes would have retired. If not...well, I hoped I wouldn't have to harm either of them.

* * *

AN: Gomen nasai for updating so slowly. School is back in session. As you can tell, the story is coming to a wrap. The last update will be the last chapter. -sniff- 

Gomen nasai- (Japanese) I'm sorry

Gomen- (Jp) sorry


	25. Scrubs

Raistlin Majere frowned.

It wasn't that he didn't do this often, but the mage was miffed. And a miffed Raistlin Majere is not healthy for a long life.

You may be asking yourself, why is Raistlin miffed?

The Master of the Tower hadn't seen his mini-me. Of course, he had heard of her little breakdown after one of her frantic troupe members ran to him for assistance to ask her what was wrong. The actor had told the Hero of the Lance that Ana had appeared after vanishing for two hours, despondent and lost in thought, then shortly locked herself within a wagon. Next, Ana had spontaneously begun tearing up and a small thunderstorm appeared over her head.

This intrigued and alarmed Raistlin.

When asked, the troupe member had said that Ana hadn't said any words he had heard to conjure the storm. No hand motions, no components, no words of magic. The storm obviously had been a magical reaction to Ana's powerful emotions, but a stage mage that young with that power?

Ana had interested Raistlin from the start. She reminded him of himself, and at other times, she reminded him of Caramon. Ana had more of a brain than half the people Raistlin had met in his lifetime and for that reason, he enjoyed her company. She even tortured his apprentice, Dalamar, the spy for the Conclave.

_The atmosphere the first night at the Tower was uncomfortable. More so at dinner, when everyone had to sit at the table with two dangerous black robes. Thronden directed Ana to sit closest to Dalamar and Raistlin since she had been the one to sign the letter. _

_Raistlin ate little, analyzing each member. _

_When he watched the shy young female beside him, she smiled mischievously, eyes on her meal. She appeared to have trouble trying not to giggle. What was she up to?_

"_Is something the matter?" he asked her quietly. _

_She bit her bottom lip, shaking her head. The shine in her eyes meant trouble. Deciding to see what was so amusing to this girl, Raistlin crept into her mind and waited. Ana linked her mind to every other troupe member, piquing the black robe's curiosity. Should he stop her?_

'_Attention troupe members,' she broadcasted. Some glanced around, surprised at hearing a voice in their head. Others poked their food. One man jumped from the table, screaming, "Demons!" and ran from the room. _

'_Warning: this table is seating Dalamar the Dark. Women with heart conditions are advised not to look directly at Dalamar the Dark. This also applies to women without heart conditions. He's very pretty. See? See how pretty he is? He's very pretty. I'd like to run my fingers through his hair- and I'm just a voice. Anyway, without further ado, enjoy your crappy meal.' she finished, withdrawing her mind to its barriers. _

'_My tribute to LittleWingedKuriboh!' she thought. All of the actors were laughing, glancing at the irritated, 'pretty' Dalamar. Ana laughed the hardest and longest. Raistlin found it difficult to fight down the amusement bubbling in his throat. After that night, some tension eased. _

Now that he thought about it, Raistlin was not only miffed, but irritated. No, not irritated. He was angry. Had Ana snuck off in his Tower to stay? Or had she decided to avoid saying good-bye? Whatever her reasoning had been, Raistlin sent his disembodied servants to search his Tower for straggling members.

They came up with nothing.

Raistlin found this surprising since he felt a power other than Dalamar's growing within the Tower, but he couldn't locate it. The growing power was becoming a threat. The nagging anger and bitterness at Ana's disappearance didn't leave either. The more he thought about it, the more Raistlin Majere was convinced Ana had stayed. She had the power to create a thunderstorm without words or components; his disembodied ghostly servants had probably been bamboozled by a spell from her.

What was Ana?

It was time for a trip to the Chamber of Seeing.

O-o-O-o-O

I woke from my slumber thoroughly refreshed and awake- something I'd never accomplished before. It usually took half an hour to two hours for me to submerge from a state of unconsciousness or I'd sink back into it. I stretched, feeling slightly guilty for not saying good-bye to the Players of Gilean…except Sebastius.

I had really _really_ wanted to say good-bye to Raistlin too, maybe even work up the courage to hug him, but if that mastermind got whiff of what I was planning, he might stop me…or just kill me for skulking about in his Tower undetected. If the Master of the Tower caught me meandering, I would get questioned over the rack for why I wasn't with the troupe and how I had managed to stay undetected.

At times, Raistlin was daunting, especially when he was livid.

_Man, I wanted to bother Dalamar one last time, _I mentally pouted, making my way up the perilous, obsidian staircase. Nothing living or dead moved in the halls, picking at my nerves. If I were to compare my situation, it would be like walking down a dark alley and not hearing any footsteps, but expecting to.

'_Remember, should any threats arise, you have the power of a demigod at this moment and growing! Mere thoughts will guide your magic, with my permission, of course.' _Nuitari reminded me.

_So, be creative, _I told myself. _If Raistlin comes, imagine gum sticking under his shoes and staff…and gum in his mouth so he won't be able to say anything right away…_

As my mind swarmed with creative ways to stop black robes, I jogged up the stairs enthusiastically, hoping for a challenge.

O-o-O-o-O

The Chamber of Seeing had proved fruitless and frustrating.

Magic, more powerful than his, was at work within his Tower.

Raistlin briefly wondered if his apprentice and Ana had teamed up and discarded the idea. Ana annoyed and embarrassed the Abyss out of Dalamar. Why would he assist her? That left the Master of the Tower with two thoughts: Ana was a demigod or she had the assistance of the gods.

With that kind of power, she could be included in his forming plan for godhood.

The growing power, possibly Ana, had surpassed Raistlin's and the black robe became wary. Dangerous spells listed in his brain, ready to roll from his tongue if needed. The sun set and a glance outside told Raistlin that the black moon, after its white and red cousins, was climbing to its zenith.

Raistlin's power grew along with the mysterious opponent's, meaning they too were a black robe. Raistlin vanished to the Laboratory to find a book of Fistandantilus's that dealt with demigods.

O-o-O-o-O

'_It is nearly time_,' Nuitari reminded for the thousandth time.

'_I get it! I get it! You are telling me to hurry!_' Instead of skipping two stairs at a time, I leapt over four. The stupid stairs never seemed to end! Even at the rate I was going, I would reach the Laboratory by Spring Dawning!

I stopped on a landing, thinking of the rules for teleporting, muttering to myself.

"Let's see, let's see…what did that dude say in that one book?" I murmured, putting my hands on my hips. "That wizard-emperor dude who wore the black robes and possessed a guy named Forlo, or some name that started with an 'F'…The wizard-emporor who had no face mentioned that to teleport, one had to call the location to mind. Yeah, that's it!"

I shut my eyes and thought of Raistlin's Laboratory.

O-o-O-o-O

I sucked my lips into my mouth, eyes boggling out of my head as I saw Raistlin with his back turned to me. He scanned the shelves for a book. I stood still, unsure of what to do. I didn't want my favorite character pissed at me before I went home, but I also wanted to go back home in one piece, alive.

Decisions, decisions.

I tiptoed toward the Portal, praying that Raistlin wouldn't notice me (however unlikely that was).

Of all the things that happened, my boots squeaked.

You heard me, they squeaked. Rather audibly too.

Raistlin whirled around and froze. I bit my lip, blood freezing, wondering what would happen next.

"What are you doing in my Laboratory?" the Master of the Tower inquired accusingly.

I twiddled my fingers and said shyly, "Um, going home…To Earth…"

Raistlin took a step forward. "How do you plan to accomplish that?"

"If I told you, would you stop me?" I asked, tempted to take a step back. He didn't answer or move; my top teeth sunk back into my bottom lip. This wasn't going well.

Nuitari made things worse by causing the curtains to draw back dramatically, revealing the Portal. Five dragon heads –white, blue, green, red, and black- glared at us, the eyes flashing for a moment. Raistlin's head swiveled back to me. "You plan to use the Portal? Know that the Portal leads to the Abyss."

I shrugged nervously. "If it doesn't go well, Takhisis likes my jokes."

"Are you being brave or foolish?" Raistlin asked dryly, taking a few steps forward.

I edged more toward the Portal slightly. "Let's just say I'm both and all go home."

I blinked and Raistlin had vanished. I crossed my arms, sourly knowing where he'd appear- obviously behind me. Despite I knew he was behind me, I jumped when he touched my shoulder, whispering, "Do you think I'm going to let you go home?"

"M-Maybe," I stammered in an unnaturally high pitched voice. "I h-hope so."

"Would you like to stay here on Krynn? I could send you to the Academy and train you as a second apprentice when you graduate from the Academy." Damn, Raistlin sounded very tempting.

"I-I don't know." Willing or not, Nuitari had warned me that when his moon reached its crest, I was going home. I had no say in the matter. "I'd like to but I can't; I'm not allowed."

Raistlin turned me around and leaned forward, causing my face to flush. "Who is stopping you?"

"The gods of magic," I squeaked.

My favorite character became silent. He even stopped coughing for a moment, until he was overcome by a brief fit. I frowned at the mage. As much as I wanted to stay in the Tower and learn magic, I would have stayed if the gods weren't zapping me back to Earth.

Raistlin did something truly Raistlin-ish.

He brushed his bloodied lips against my forehead, whispering, "I can see in your eyes you would stay if you could. It's killing you to leave. Come back anytime."

When I got dizzy, I knew I had the key to enter the Shoikan Grove. My eyes began watering and I embraced my favorite character, sniffling, "Damn you, Raistlin Majere, you're making me cry!" He patted the back of my head.

The Portal's center gleamed and the dragon's writhed, hissing words of magic. I stepped back, dropping my backpack, taking off my jacket. I handed him a token of my trust and smiled, "Have fun with those new sarcasm phrases, Father." I held up my hand, giving him the Vulcan hand sign from 'Star Trek' my Earth dad had taught me. "Live long and prosper."

He nodded, gripping the teal jacket. I began walking toward the Portal and stopped, half-turning around.

"Raistlin, one more thing," I said.

"Yes?"

I turned red, and asked sheepishly, "May I please have your autograph?"

O-o-O-o-O

I woke up in a hospital, my body feeling filled with sand. My eyes were almost sanded impossibly shut, but I managed to pry them open with willpower. "Where am I?" I croaked in a parched alien voice.

"Holy hell!" A doctor wearing blue scrubs who oddly resembled J.D. (John Dorian) from the medical comedy show 'Scrubs' jumped. "How did you wake up?"

"Why am I in hospital?" I rasped. A few cameras were focused on me and the weird doctor. What was going on?

"You're at Sacred Heart, kid," the doctor who really turned out to be J.D. said, grabbing a glass of water on the table beside my bed. He held it up to my lips. "You've been in a coma for two weeks after that car accident."

That explained why I felt like death. My entire body was practically mummified in bandages and any part of me that wasn't had wires or an IV sticking out of my skin. My mind had turned on, now working overtime to figure out what I'd missed.

"I-I'll go tell the other doctors and your parents that you're awake," J.D. stammered, rushing from the room.

"'Kay." I shut my eyes, frowning. Had my trip to Krynn been real or was it all a dream? A lump formed in my throat and I fought not to unleash the waterworks. _I-I really thought that I'd…that I'd met Raistlin. _

O-o-O-o-O

I woke up what felt like seconds later with my mother screaming my name. I groaned, still unable to move, opening my eyes. Why were hospital lights so obnoxiously bright? My family had swarmed into the room and after a few moments, I remembered who they were. A camera recorded the entire scene from outside the glass of the hospital room I was in.

Despite the fact I was happy that I was back on Earth with my family and all, I remained disappointed that I hadn't really gone to Krynn.

O-o-O-o-O

The real paramedics rushed in the room and began overwhelming me by asking as many questions as a kender can in one breath, only there were five or six paramedics. When they lifted the hospital blankets, they were astonished to see one of my hands (I couldn't feel my hands yet) grasping onto the strap of a leather backpack tightly.

Try as they might, no one could pry the enigmatic backpack from my fingers. No one could recall placing a leather backpack in my hands. When one of the paramedics tried to open the backpack, I screamed, "No!" and reflexively crushed the backpack to my chest. The effort caused me to pass out.

No one was taking my only evidence of being on Krynn.

The backpack was my only hope, my only proof.

I needed it to assure myself.

I didn't want to be disappointed that all I had been through wasn't real.

O-o-O-o-O

"She's showing good signs of recovering. She startled us when she curled around that backpack as if it were her lifeline," a doctor chuckled to my mother.

"I'm just so glad my daughter is alive and out of that coma," my mother sighed gratefully.

I drifted into unconsciousness, slightly aware of the backpack nestled on my chest.

O-o-O-o-O

All the loony doctors and paramedics were done panicking and mothering me worse than my own mother. I was finally alone. Everyone else slept at this late hour in the night.

"Please, please," I whispered, eyes threatening to tear as my hand reached to undo the backpack. "Please, don't let all that have been a lie."

I squeezed my eyes shut, thrusting my hand into the backpack. My hand hit something velvety. Slowly, fearfully, I pulled out something that was folded neatly. It was a black robe with golden trimming. Burying my face in the robes, I cried anyway.

* * *

AN: Aaaww, I'm so sad my own story is over I had to constantly wipe my eyes while writing the last part! YY On a happier note, I'll soon be posting another Dragonlance story, so dry those tears and turn those frowns upside-down! 


	26. Epilogue

I can't believe it!

I was on 'Scrubs' _and _I had been on Krynn _**and**_ met Raistlin Majere (also got his autograph)!

That's a triple whammy right there.

Actually, a quadruple whammy because we got that season of 'Scrubs' for free.

But still!

My doctor explained -after two tortuous weeks in the hospital recuperating- that one of the side effects of the car accident was amnesia. He went on to say that my last memory before the accident was reading in my room, on my bed, listening to my iPod- the day of the car accident. To protect itself, my brain triggered the coma to heal my body; during the coma, amnesia triggered, eradicating the gruesome crash.

It was like my brain hit 'stop', 'rewind' on my memories and then pressed 'pause' when I was reading and clicked 'record' over the crash incident.

While my body was healing and my brain was tampering with my memories, somehow I ended up being 'spirited away' to Krynn.

Sadly, I must say, the only proof I have are Raistlin's robes and the signatures of Mistress Jenna, Raistlin, Tasslehoff, Tika, Caramon, Dalamar, Sebastius, and Astinus.

That meant if I were to go back to Krynn –_if_ I could go back- I needed: Tanis, Laurana, Riverwind, Goldmoon, Kitiara (if she didn't kill me first), Sturm and Flint (if they were alive), Fizban, and perhaps a _few_ other people…

If the situation arose where I _could_ go back to Krynn, I had my pockets full and ready. Most people found it bizarre I kept a camera in my pocket. But I swore to myself that getting pictures was a big must.

Speaking of pictures, when I saw the photo shots of the car wreckage, I could not believe it. I found it impossible to see myself in a newspaper, pale and bleeding. It was fun, though, sitting in an uncomfortable hospital bed while watching terribly done soap operas.

Yeah, sarcasm- gotta love it.

Speaking of hospital, the doctors mentioned that I had healed abnormally fast. They said I had recovered so quickly that they wanted to send a blood sample to a lab and test on it. My mom was thrilled with that. I'm so proud of her…She told off those crazy lab coats and whisked me home before the doctors could find the shots.

And we all know how much I love shots.

Ha ha.

Other than my speedy healing abilities, weird things have happened.

I _finally_ got a boyfriend, but he stood me up at the first date and broke up with me in a week over email. It turned out that that would-be 'boyfriend' was a cowardly two-timer. I became inconsolable and broody for two weeks, broiling. When I saw my cheater of an ex-boyfriend with another girl, laughing, jealousy reared its ugly head and struck before I could think sensibly.

The girl and ex-boyfriend had been standing under a tree.

A branch –a frickin' _huge_ branch- fell on them both…

…while I stood there, gaping, wondering what had happened and why.

A little ago, I got really mad at my littlest brother for effectively ruining my iPod by painting over the red with yellow. I cried over my special iPod, hoping, wishing it was red and functional. I exhausted myself sobbing over the iPod and when I woke up- _whoa_.

Not only was the yellow paint job _gone_, but when I tried it, my iPod _**worked**_!

Talk about halleluiah!

Since these strange occurrences, I've theorized that I've come back to Earth with residual magical powers that can only react with my strongest emotions because magic, in general, is weak on Earth.

If my theory is true, I have a different version of the Force!

I tried waving my hand in front of my math teacher's face, saying, "This girl has her homework completed." Yeah, that didn't work out so well. Class ended in mockery and humiliation. I've officially earned several new shameful nicknames involving Star Wars and Jedi.

That's what has become of me since the hospital- adjusting back to life.

My mom couldn't believe it when I asked how to turn on the computer and T.V.

It took a confusing week for me to fully remember what I had learned on Earth.

Whoop-de-flippin'-**doo**.

* * *

AN: I don't own Scrubs, Krynn, Star Wars, or Jedi...or the Ipod (although I _do_ own one)...The Force...wow, I don't own a lot. 


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